


Walking the Line

by Leaper



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Homophobia, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 00:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leaper/pseuds/Leaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For two young men in Lima, Ohio, the summer of 1956 was the summer when everything fell apart... and everything fell together. [Gift exchange submission.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: 2013

**Author's Note:**

> AN: While you may be surprised to see yet another new story from me, this is actually an already completed submission for a Kurtofsky gift exchange on Tumblr. It was my first one, and was actually a lot of fun. Since it's completed, that means I'll have no issues updating, like so many of my stories. But since it's also really long, I'll be leaving a few days in between updates (except between the really short prologue and first part) to let things digest.
> 
> Original prompt from undercoverhide_away that spawned over 30K words, in case you're curious: 1950's AU: Kurt is a greaser, Dave is a jock. Kurt and Dave face difficulties when they realize that they have feelings for one another.

**March 27, 2013  
Joshua P. Gibson Academy, New York**

Kurt Hummel frowned. What was he speaking for again?

He focused on a woman's voice, muffled through the curtains, though the sound was bolstered by the admittedly good acoustics of the auditorium. "... for those students in my social sciences class, I expect you all to ask questions. And be warned: I _will_ know by your questions who's read the book and who hasn't."

_Oh, right. School lecture series._ It wasn't that his memory was slipping (at least he hoped not, God — he felt decrepit enough as it was sometimes), but his life, especially in the last year and a half, had been such a whirlwind of lectures, guest speaking, and talk show appearances that they'd all run together in his head like melted Neapolitan ice cream.

"... And now, our speaker for today. He's a well-known activist and lobbyist, one of the authors of _The Long Road Home: Fifty Years in the Gay Rights Movement_ , and we're proud to have him here. So please give a warm welcome to Mr. Kurt Hummel."

There was polite applause as Kurt stepped out of the wings and into the spotlight. There was, as always, a feeling of comfort as he entered the stage, as if he were made for the attention and the dozens upon dozens of eyes. Well, he supposed he wouldn't be a very effective activist and lobbyist if he weren't.

He wondered what the students thought of him; he supposed he looked like a relic of an ancient past to them, with the white hair, the wrinkles, the shriveled beanpole of a body (he always was a little slight — age only emphasized what had always been there). But he supposed that was what he was; he certainly felt like it, looking out at that field of young (God, so young) faces. Hell, he was seventy five years old — it came with the territory.

The prepared lecture went without a hitch; he didn't even need notes anymore, he'd given it so many times. Then came time for either the best or the worst part: the Q and A. When the audience was hostile, or worse, disinterested, it became either a tedious and pointless attempt to penetrate a thick curtain of prejudice or a teeth-pulling exercise in trying to communicate just why it was basic civil rights were a _little_ more important than the latest YouTube fad. But when the audience was bright and engaged, even if they disagreed with him... Damn if it didn't shoot the heat of youth through his blood. The give and take, back and forth, the reaching out and turning on of light bulbs above heads... A heady wine indeed.

Fortunately, it looked like this group leaned towards the better part of the scale. He'd hoped so, given this school's reputation, and he wasn't disappointed. Even if their gaps in knowledge were obvious, there was a real interest and desire to learn, and that's all he ever asked for.

After about ten minutes of answers, he pointed towards a young woman with shoulder length blonde hair near the center of the occupied seats. "I wanted to ask you about David."

Even after all this time, the very name sent Kurt's heart racing and his stomach doing unaccountable things; he wondered if one day he'd hear David's name, then have a heart attack and not even realize it. "Go on," he said, taking a sip of water to quench his dry mouth.

"He is _such_ a presence in this book..."

"I should hope so."

"... And if you don't mind me saying, you seem a lot different now than the way you describe yourself as being when you were our age."

Kurt chuckled dryly. "That, young lady, is an understatement."

"The book is all about your perspective on the changing face of the LGBT struggle, but you don't discuss your personal life a lot. I realize that's not what the book is about, but at the same time, you only offer enough context to make your point, and you move on." Kurt couldn't help but nod, partly in appreciation; this girl obviously had a good head on her shoulders. "So I was wondering what sort of effect David had on you and your outlook on life."

A silence seemed to fall over the entire auditorium; Kurt almost imagined that some of the audience were actually leaning forward in their seats, as silly as it was. He sighed, a thready sound forced through tired lungs. "I'm... not sure I can give an answer that won't take years. That's how much of an impact he had. Without David... you wouldn't have that book in your hands. I wouldn't be here. I... I really can't imagine where I'd be." He shook his head. "As you saw, I wrote about us and how we met in the first chapter. I almost didn't, but it was important... Even then I think I may have downplayed how important. The... the _profoundness_ of what he did to me... I'm not sure I can express. I miss that man." There wasn't even the barest hint of moisture in his eyes; instead, there was a faraway look, as if he were focusing on something that wasn't there. "I miss him every day..."


	2. June 1956

**June 10, 1956  
Lima, Ohio**

Dave Karofsky coughed, brushing the reddish dirt off his t-shirt in annoyance. It left behind a streaky stain that he knew his mom would notice and probably scold him for. _Great. Just great._ And for what? For what did he cause this minor laundry crisis? A bunch of crap he didn't particularly care about.

The road was dry and dusty, the pavement pale and cracked. It used to be a major thoroughfare for vehicles coming in and out of Lima, but with the new interstate, it was now practically deserted — perfect for teenagers with little to do and in need of a large open space, like the hoods who were chatting, showing off their rides and their women, and just generally being the delinquents they were.

So there were cars. Lots of them. Dave knew little about the things; he knew how to get from point A to point B, but the finer details of transmissions and intake manifolds and what-the-hell-ever were completely lost on him. Neither could he tell the difference between a Ford and a Chevy if someone put a gun to his head. Still, he could see the beauty in the smooth curves, the gleaming paint jobs, the polished chrome and steel sending dazzling pinpoints of sunlight flying every which way under the clear summer sky. It just didn't do much for him. He felt out of place. This made sense, since he wasn't a hood, but...

Feeling out of place wasn't an unusual feeling for him.

Dave shook his head, forcibly shoving the thought out of his brain. He was the biggest, burliest guy present, a goddamn football powerhouse, quite unlike Puck's lean muscle or the skinny guys that surrounded him. He had the notion that he should've felt fearless, but instead, he just felt lost. As usual. He kicked at a loose pebble; it bounced once, then skittered into a patch of grass.

A motor revved, sounding like a roar of superiority. Dave looked around for Puck; of course, the guy was nowhere to be seen. Puck was the reason he was there in the first place; he insisted that going alone (his usual cohorts were "busy") would make him "look like a total loser" and "come on, do you _really_ have anything better to do today?" Dave felt pathetic to realize that the answer was "no." Besides, Puck was a friend of sorts. They met through a mutual friend, McKinley quarterback Finn Hudson (though where and how _Finn_ had met Puck was a question Dave never really asked). Puck was a classic hood, all sunglasses and leather and exhaust smell; no one knew whether he was still in school (or whether he'd been kicked out of Thurston, as rumor had it) or even what his real name was. Most of the rest of this bunch were his hood buddies, which left Dave, with his checked green short-sleeved shirt over his tee and battered jeans, as the odd man out, even ignoring his lack of interest in cars and lack of juvenile record. But Puck was an okay guy — funny, street smart, and non-judgmental, which was more than he could say for any of the adults and most of the peers in his life.

He slowly walked from car to car, his sneakers kicking up more dust as he passed. He barely looked at the drivers: a tall lanky blond polishing his hood with a sneering half-grin, a dark-haired guy whose head was so full of pomade that it looked like an oil slick, a young looking kid with an Irish accent talking to a girl he didn't recognize. His head being turned towards this last tableau, wondering whether the boy was old enough to even be driving in the States, caused him to almost run into another car. Startled, he stopped and turned.

It was a black car, one Dave would later find out was a 1949 Mercury, beautifully detailed with intricately painted flames across its hood and along its sides. It was polished, pristine, practically giving off an aura in the hot summer sun. Its hood was open, and a pair of denim-covered legs attached to a pair of curved buttocks were sticking out, as if the car were vomiting up its own driver. Dave heard the tinny pings of metal on metal, punctuated by the occasional muttered swear word, a few of which caused even his cheeks to burn. Not that he was unfamiliar with expletives; he was a teenager, after all, who spent a lot of time on football fields and locker rooms. But the way this voice used them... He could tell that such words, and worse, were as well-worn as verbs to this guy.

"Pliers." The voice was clear and firm, if a little high pitched. Dave jumped. "I said, pliers." A hand emerged from the depths of the car, attached to a long pale arm.

"Uh..."

"Did I stutter? Give me the fucking pliers." The fingers clenched and opened in demand.

Dave looked about. His eyes fell on a rusted red toolbox sitting next to the front passenger side wheel. He knelt down, snatched out a pair of pliers, and placed it to the waiting hand. It immediately vanished back into the car, followed by another grunt and some shimmying on the part of the legs and butt. A second later, the rest of the body drew itself out of darkness.

He was skinny, his brown hair done in a pompadour. His white tee was stained with rust and grease, as were his long-fingered, yet delicate looking hands. An unlit cigarette dangled from his mouth. The boy slammed the hood shut and picked up a black leather jacket hanging from the end of the front bumper. He extracted a lighter from one of the pockets and lit up. After a couple of puffs, he slung the jacket over his shoulder and stepped forward.

Dave involuntarily stepped back. He wasn't really sure why; Puck was a hood too, and he wouldn't let anything bad happen to him here. It was just... What?

The other boy saw the retreat, and gave a sneer and a snort. He dropped the pliers back into the toolbox without looking, his eyes focused on Dave.

A moment of silence passed; the two stared at each other as shouts and laughter echoed around them. The sun battered the back of Dave's neck. Casually, the other kid plucked a pair of sunglasses hanging from his jeans pocket and put them on, hiding his eyes. Another moment — ten moments — passed, as if the guy was daring Dave to be the first to speak. Was Dave's own silence his own dare to the other? He didn't know.

Finally, he swallowed. "Uh... Nice car."

The boy snorted again, sending puffs of cigarette smoke wafting towards Dave's face; they dissipated in the breeze before he could inhale more than a faint whiff. "Yeah, I know."

More silence. Dave vaguely wondered what anyone watching them would think. Hell, _he_ didn't know what to think.

"Never seen you before," the other boy drawled, taking the cigarette from his lips and knocking off some of the ash. Even with the sunglasses, Dave could imagine his eyes lifting and dropping, taking in his clothes. "You look like one of those 'squares,' as that idiot Evans would say."

Dave wasn't quite sure what the term meant, but it got his hackles up. "Yeah, well... I've got a life, you know?"

The other boy laughed. "And what a wonderful life it must be." Dave felt his face turn red for some unaccountable reason. "You look like a jock." Again, that feeling of eyes behind the sunglasses, examining his massive frame. "Lemme guess: you're one of those football meatheads."

Dave drew himself up straight, as he did whenever he wanted to tower over someone. He only partly succeeded; he was broader than the other kid, to be sure, but the height difference was only a couple of inches at most. "Yeah, I am. So what?"

"Your mommy and daddy must be so proud of you," came the casual reply.

A hot anger stirred in Dave's belly. Something about the words had prodded something inside him, something buried so deep he hadn't even realized it was there. Whatever _it_ was, the blinding glare of the sun was starting to cast light upon it, and he didn't like it. Not at all. "You know what? To hell with you. What do I care what some lowlife hood thinks?"

"Oooh, meathead has some fire to him. Maybe you're not as hopeless as you look." The boy's lips curled in amusement as they clamped onto the stub of a cigarette. He yanked it out of his mouth and tossed it onto the ground, crushing the butt with a single step of one of his motorcycle boots.

"What the hell is your problem?" Dave snapped.

"My _problem_ is judgmental sons of bitches like you."

"Who said I was judging you?"

The boy snorted. "'Lowlife hood'? Very original. Besides, _everyone_ judges me. Us. It comes with the territory. I don't give a shit."

This time, it was Dave's turn to sneer. "If you don't give a... damn, then why are you yelling at me to begin with?"

The other boy paused. If he'd still had the cigarette in his mouth, it would've fallen out. Dave felt certain that his eyes had widened behind those sunglasses. A minor victory, but he'd take it.

"Hey!" Puck finally chose this moment to appear, clapping Dave on the back. "I see you met my man H-Bomb here," he said, nodding towards the other kid.

The thin hood frowned, while Dave's mouth quirked in amusement. "'H-Bomb'?"

"Yeah, you oughta see him race. His speed, is like, _explosive_. So, 'H-Bomb.'" Puck then turned towards the explosively named hood. "This is my buddy Dave. He's cool, don't worry."

"Yeah, we've... talked." "H-Bomb"'s expression was once again neutral behind his sunglasses. Dave had no idea why the guy didn't just tell the truth, or at least tell Dave off, long before this. Maybe he just didn't want to make trouble with Puck's friend with Puck around. Seemed reasonable.

"Hey, you ready to go?" Puck's question broke through Dave's mental analysis. "I've gotta date with Quinn, and didn't you say you had work?"

 _Oh. Right._ "Yeah, I do. Thanks." He turned towards "H-Bomb." "So, uh... Nice meeting you. Like I said, nice car." Hell, it wouldn't hurt him to be polite to the guy either, especially in front of Puck. This time, Dave didn't even wait for a reaction (probably would've been another smart remark anyway) before he and Puck walked away.

At least that awkwardness (though where the heck did it come from?) was over with — for good.

* * *

"So how was work?" Paul Karofsky served himself another slice of pot roast as his wife sipped delicately at a glass of iced lemonade.

Dave shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Mr. Ryerson gave me a couple of more hours this week, so I should be able to save some more money."

Paul nodded. "Good to hear. Though I still don't like that Ryerson man. Something about him..." He shook his head. "At any rate, you're learning responsibility and about paying your own way. That will serve you well in college and beyond."

"Yes, sir."

"You've been doing so well, David," Diane Karofsky said gently. "We're very proud of you. You're going to be a wonderful lawyer."

"Maybe we should go into business together," Paul said in a half-joking tone. "Karofsky and Son. Sounds good, doesn't it?"

Dave forced himself to swallow a piece of over-boiled broccoli, lest his mother have a fit. "Not bad, I guess."

Paul chuckled. "I understand; I wanted to be independent when I was your age too. There's only so far a parent can go, I suppose. But I'm sure wherever you pass the bar will welcome a smart young man like you."

"Don't forget he's a football star too," Diane added. "I'm really looking forward to watching you play your senior year."

"Thanks," Dave muttered. Paul and Diane exchanged a quick glance, but he didn't notice, too busy picking at his remaining shards of pot roast.

Finally, Paul spoke up again. "How's the car running?"

It'd been over six months since Paul Karofsky had gifted his son his old 1950 DeSoto after welcoming a new Chevy into the family. Dave had accepted with genuine gratitude — a car was a car, after all, and a car meant independence, and thus "cool" — but his father still inquired after the thing as if he still owned it. "I guess I have a hard time letting go," he'd laughed.

"Not so good," Dave replied, feeling somewhat relieved to get off the topic of law and the bar. "It sounds funny, and it doesn't seem to be running right."

Paul frowned. "Hmm, might be time for maintenance. Or at least to get it checked out. Why don't you take it to the garage on Fourth Street? I've known the owner for a while now; he's an honest man, and a good mechanic. I'm sure he'll have it running in top shape in no time."

"Sure. I'll take it in tomorrow." No sense wasting time; he had the entire summer ahead of him, and being without transportation was not an option. He supposed that if worst came to worst, if this garage wasn't able to fix it, he could ask Puck to have one of his hood friends take a look at it...

He forced the thought out of his head, because that brought up memories of earlier that day. He wasn't exactly sure _why_ he was so uncomfortable, but the plate in front of him had never been so fascinating in his life.

* * *

**June 11, 1956**

"Hummel and Son Garage and Repairs," the sign over the large bay doors said. It reminded him too much of last night's dinner conversation; he pushed away the roiling in his stomach. The DeSoto protested weakly as Dave drove up; that was a sure sign that his timing was good. He parked and got out, looking around.

He could see three men inside. One was just a pair of grey slacks sticking out from underneath a car. A second, a young man with short cropped black hair, was apparently on a break, drinking a bottle of Coke while sitting on a tall stool in the back. The third, a bald man about Dave's dad's age, was examining some loose parts. His hands were stained black, and the patch on his overalls said "Burt." He looked up as Dave approached; he decided to assume that this was the mechanic his dad referred to.

"Hi. I need someone to take a look at my car?"

Burt nodded. "The DeSoto over there?"

"Yeah. It's been running kind of funny."

"Funny how?"

"Making weird noises sometimes? It's a little... jerky if I go fast? It's kind of hard to describe; I don't know a lot about cars."

"Well, we'll take a look at it, see what we can find." He turned towards the pair of legs. "Hey, Kurt! You've got another job!"

There was a slight rattle of metal against concrete as the mechanic slid out from underneath the car. Dave's eyes widened, and he nearly choked on his own spit. Despite the lack of sunglasses, and the addition of a streak of oil, there was no mistaking that hair, that face. The other's eyes widened as well, so he knew the recognition was mutual.

Kurt "H-Bomb" Hummel unsteadily got to his feet. "Dad, can I talk to you for a second?" He led the mildly puzzled older man towards the back. Dave rocked on his heels uncomfortably, trying to find some interest in the metal and rubber around him. Snatches of hissed conversation wafted from over his shoulder.

"... can't work with..."

"... you know Carl and I have our hands full..."

"... don't think I..."

"... can't afford to turn away..."

"... no, I can't really explain..."

"... have to learn you can't pick and choose..."

Finally, the conversation ceased. Kurt walked towards him, a strained smile on his face; Burt hung back, his arms folded, watching. "Sorry about that, sir." He nearly spat out that last word. "What can I do for you?"

"Uh, yeah. It's my car."

"Obviously. This _is_ a garage." The tone wasn't nearly as snide as Dave was expecting.

"... Right. It's over there." He cocked his head towards the DeSoto.

"All right, then, let's take a look." He waited as Dave popped the hood, then lifted it open. The minute the motor came into view, his eyes widened in horror. "Oh my God. How long has it been since someone's touched this thing?"

Dave stammered. "Uh... My dad gave this thing to me six months ago... I don't know when he last did anything to it before then..."

"Have you even changed the oil since you got it?"

"Uh..."

"'Uh...'" Kurt repeated mockingly. He shook his head and heaved a sigh. "I'm going to see what else is wrong." He bent forward and disappeared into the engine, much the same as he had the previous day. Dave watched the hips and butt sway this way and that as he poked here and there, accompanied by the same muttering he remembered.

Dave must've felt mildly suicidal, because he couldn't resist. "'H-Bomb'?"

The swaying and muttering stopped cold for a moment, then resumed. "Yeah, well... Like Puck said, explosive speed. That and my last name... It stuck. Bastards." He spent another couple of minutes hemming and hawing to himself, then finally pulled himself out of the engine. "Well, your water pump's seen better days, there's a timing belt that could use some looking at soon, I probably need to adjust your clutch, and this is just a feeling, but I don't think half your spark plugs are going to survive the month. And that's just what I managed to see today." Dave's jaw nearly dropped; he didn't quite follow exactly what Kurt just said, but the force and confidence in his voice convinced him that whatever it was, it must be so. "I'm busy with some other cars, but I can take care of the oil change on Wednesday. Bring it back tomorrow."

Dave nodded. "Um, about the other stuff... I'm not sure I can afford all that right now. I mean, I have a job, but it doesn't pay a ton, and I only just got my first paycheck..."

Kurt cocked his head, regarding Dave thoughtfully. Dave found his hands twitching in some kind of weird tension. "Tell you what: bring it back when you have some money. I'll start with the most urgent parts, and what you can afford. We'll just keep going like that until you've got a reliable hunk of machinery. Now, we might get busy, and this whole thing may take the entire summer, but you'll have a better car by the end. Sound good?"

Dave nearly cricked his neck nodding. "Y-yeah, that sounds great."

"Good. See you tomorrow, then." Kurt went back into the garage without another word. Dave was barely conscious of his staring until a questioning look by a passing Burt jolted him. He hurried back into the DeSoto and drove away. So intent was he on the road, and his own thoughts, that he didn't see Kurt doing some staring of his own, watching the car pull away and disappear into traffic.

* * *

Dave groaned, tossing the sheet aside. He squinted, barely reading the hands of his alarm clock in the moonlight spilling through his bedroom window. _Almost midnight. Damn._

He rested his arm over his eyes. Why the hell couldn't he sleep?

Part of the answer became obvious with a little thought, the way his mind kept drifting back to the garage, and Kurt Hummel. But why would that be affecting him? Despite being a hood, Hummel was actually kind of scrawny; Dave had faced worse in his life... Although if Hummel had a knife or something (and he probably would), then maybe...

Nah, this was getting him nowhere. Dave rolled onto his side, huffing a sigh. What the hell was it that...?

The answer blazed into his mind so hot and clear that he nearly sat bolt upright in bed. Of course!

He was worried Hummel would mess with his car! It only made sense, given the tension of their first meeting, Hummel's obvious continuing reluctance to continue associating with "squares," and, again of course, the guy being a hood. And while he probably wouldn't mess with the brakes or anything (fatalities were probably bad for his dad's business), he sure wouldn't be above pouring something into the gas tank or the oil.

Sighing with relief, Dave relaxed against his pillow. The question remained, though: what to do about it? Maybe some kind of peace offering — just to ease the tension, show he didn't mean any harm. Just enough to get his car out in one piece. He made a mental note to ask his mom what she'd suggest as he slipped into slumber.

Perhaps it was fortunate for him that he didn't think about why he didn't consider just taking his car somewhere else, or remember the dreams he ended up having...

* * *

**June 12, 1956**

Dave was glad to arrive at the garage; the smell had been driving him crazy the entire trip over. Burt Hummel was absent; the black haired man from yesterday, some blond guy with a mess of curly hair, and Kurt were working inside. Kurt's face was streaked with dried sweat tracks and patches of grease missed by a towel. Dave couldn't help but smile a little. _Huh? Where the hell did that come from?_ Shaking his head, he forced the grin off his face and got out of the car, bringing his peace offering with him.

Kurt looked up at him, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. "Are those... chocolate chip cookies?" The other two mechanics' heads instantly whipped towards him at the words, at the fragrant smell.

"Uh, yeah. These are from my mom. My dad comes here all the time, and he thought I could, uh, bribe you guys. You know, into treating me as well as you do him." This was a lie, of course; his dad had exactly nothing to do with any of this. But it was a convenient, easily believed excuse. Indeed, in the face of his mother's freshly baked cookies, it seemed that all skepticism had been thrown out the window.

The blond was eying the plate as if considering burying his face in it. "Can we...?"

"As long as you take just two. _Two_." Kurt cast a glare at the blond that immediately caused him to shrink. Dave didn't blame him; he himself shuddered at the look. "I want something to be left over for Dad besides crumbs."

"You're the boss," the blond rasped. Cautiously, gently, he plucked a cookie off the plate with each hand. The black haired mechanic did the same.

As they retreated to scarf down their prizes, Kurt stepped forward and delicately took a single cookie off the proffered plate. He took a bite. The way his eyes brightened sent a swell of pride through Dave's chest, even though he had little to do with the baking. "Delicious. Thank your mother for us."

 _Huh. Pretty polite for a hood. But I guess when you work in your dad's business, you gotta learn to make nice with the customers._ And Burt Hummel looked like he could be scary when he wanted to; he'd certainly put his foot down with his son the previous day. "I will." He stuck the plate out at Kurt, who took it. "I'll pick up the plate with my car tomorrow."

"Ah, right. Car. Pull it in." He waved at the empty bay to his left. Dave nodded and jogged back to the DeSoto. Within minutes, he'd maneuvered the car into the space. Kurt was standing near the driver's side door as Dave got out. "Keys." Dave tossed them over. "So how are you getting home?"

Dave raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you care?" he asked with a rumble of amusement.

Kurt snorted. "Excuse me for trying to help a customer. We have a deal with the cab company, so if you need one..."

"Nah. I'm going to walk to the library. My dad's going to pick me up there after he's done with work."

"The library?" This time it was Kurt who raised an eyebrow.

"What? I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say you were," Kurt said simply.

"I'm surprised you knew Lima had a library."

Despite himself, Kurt snorted a chuckle through his pursed lips. "Very good. Better than I expected from you." A moment of silence fell, much like the one two days previous. This time, though, Kurt broke it quickly, tossing the keys into the air and letting them fall back into his hand. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of you."

"What? Oh, the car. Right. Sure. When should I come by tomorrow?"

"Probably early afternoon."

"Great. I'll see you then."

"Yeah." Neither moved. The blond cast a questioning glance at the tableau, but quickly returned to his work. Finally, the spell was broken by a blunt, "I'm busy, you know."

"Yeah. Sure. Tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow." His shoulders somewhat slumped, Dave walked away, not bothering to look back. The stroll to the library was hot, but short. Once inside, he made a beeline for the small shelf of paperback books, mostly donated by patrons, set up to lure casual readers into the more staid world of its dusty back collections. He grabbed the first sci-fi novel he saw and read with determined intensity until it was time to meet his father.

The next day, when he managed to drive all the way home from the Hummel garage without incident, he considered it a victory.

* * *

**June 20, 1956**

Dave was just about finished lining up the cans of peas (nice and neat, just the way Mr. Ryerson liked it) when he heard the roar of motors outside, a cacophonous din of grunts and and groans and the occasional pop (which even Dave knew usually wasn't good). Mr. Ryerson was sweeping in the back; he looked up with a frown. As the doors swung open, Brittany, working as cashier, stared as a group of shiny headed leather clad boys strode into the store like they owned the place. He recognized many of them from the trip with Puck, and of course, he definitely recognized Kurt Hummel. He lit up the cigarette in his mouth, ignoring Brittany's wrinkled nose and glare, as the others scattered.

"Hey, Blaine, make sure you grab enough Cokes for everyone!"

"Who's got the cash? Sebastian...?"

"Where the hell is Trent? He was supposed to meet us here!"

They swarmed through the aisles like fire ants. An old lady who'd been carefully browsing the potatoes suddenly pushed her cart towards Brittany as if someone had attached a firecracker to her straw hat. Dave was too busy staring at the chaos to notice Mr. Ryerson walking up behind him. As it was, the reedy voice in his ear almost caused him to literally jump.

"Keep an eye on them. If they cause trouble, kick them out."

Dave turned to his boss in disbelief. "You expect me to handle all of them?"

"Why not? You're big and burly." Ryerson's eyes flicked about before he continued. "So go do your job." He stalked off, disappearing into the back office.

"Well, well, fancy meeting you here," a familiar high pitched voice drawled. Dave groaned inwardly, turning to meet the face he knew he'd see. "So this is your summer job, huh?"

Dave responded by drawing himself up and straightening his shoulders as best he could. Kurt looked distinctly unintimidated. "Your friends better not cause any trouble."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Like I can get those idiots to do anything. Don't worry your pretty little head off, we'll leave this place in one piece."

"Oh, yeah? Aren't you hoods supposed to be the violent type?"

"Aren't you jocks supposed to be the stupid type?" Kurt countered, and okay, that was fair. "Besides, you _have_ met my dad, haven't you? I'd rather go to prison than have to face him if I fuck up. He doesn't even have to raise a hand to me to do it. _That's_ the scary part."

"Oh, so the big bad hood doesn't have a juvenile record?" Dave asked in a teasing tone he hadn't quite intended. His nose tickled with secondhand smoke.

Kurt rolled his eyes again, but with a small smile this time. "Of course I have a juvenile record. I hang out with Puck, don't I? I'm surprised _you_ don't have one already, being his friend. But my dad put his foot down after that. And he's actually cool, so I _want_ to listen to him."

"You're not a very good hood, are you?"

Kurt punched the larger guy in the arm. "Stop calling me that. I hate labels. Besides, like I said, ask a dozen people what being a 'hood' means, and you'll probably get a dozen different answers." He looked around him, at the swarm of boys going in and out of aisles and tossing stuff off the shelves at each other (and actually catching them, to Dave's relief). "Hell, ask this bunch and you'll probably get more answers than there are people." He joined Dave in watching the scurrying boys before speaking again. "So when am I going to see you again?"

"What? Oh, maybe in a week or so. I've been working as many extra hours as I can so I can get the money quicker."

"Good. I already know what I need to do."

"Good," Dave repeated. Another silence. There seemed to be a lot of those between them lately.

"Hey, Kurt!" someone yelled at the top of his lungs. "We're ready!"

"Christ, finally!" He immediately turned on his heel and walked towards the exit. "See you next week!" he called out carelessly, not even looking back as he left.

Dave gave a little finger wave, even though he knew Kurt couldn't see it. The storm of roaring whipped up outside again, then slowly vanished into the distance.

"Huh. They were kinda nice." Dave jumped; Brittany had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

Dave shrugged noncommittally. "They didn't wreck the place, so that's good."

"They wouldn't," Brittany replied. "Kurt would've set them straight if they'd tried."

"You know Kurt? I didn't think he went to McKinley. I've never seen him around there..."

"He doesn't. He goes to Thurston. But we dated."

Dave swallowed. "You? And... Kurt?"

Now it was Brittany's turn to shrug. "Yeah, a couple of years ago."

"You... and Kurt?"

"What? He was sweet. I was surprised, actually. He didn't try to grab me once."

Brittany continued to talk, popping her gum as she spoke, but Dave stopped listening. Brittany... and Kurt? This sweet girl, and that hood? The mental image caused his brain to rebel. It just didn't make sense. _How pathetic is that? Even a hood like Hummel is ahead of me in the girlfriend department._ His parents kept insisting he just hadn't met the right girl yet, but at this rate, he was starting to wonder if he ever would...

That's why he was so upset, obviously.

* * *

**June 26, 1956**

The minute the DeSoto pulled into Hummel and Son Garage that sunny afternoon, Kurt appeared. "Thank God you're here!" he cried as he pulled open the passenger side door and plopped himself down in the front seat without so much as a "how do you do".

Dave blinked. "Uh... hi?"

"Have you had lunch yet?"

"No... why?"

"I will do this set of repairs for free if you buy me some lunch _right now_."

Dave blinked again. "Unless you want lobster or something, that won't cover your costs..."

"I know that!" Kurt snapped. "It's just that I haven't eaten anything since breakfast, I have no cash on me, and it's been so busy around here that no one's had the time to even send someone out for food, so if I don't get some lunch in me _right this second_ , I'm gonna pass out. So is it a deal or not?"

It was child's play to figure out that he'd save a ton of money, so he put the car into reverse and backed out without a moment's hesitation. "Deal."

"Good boy," Kurt said in a condescending tone that grated on Dave's nerves. "So what do you suggest?"

"For what?"

"For lunch." Kurt shrugged as Dave cast him a questioning glance. "I have my own places, but you're in the driver's seat... literally. Besides, you're paying. So where do you want to go?"

Dave tried to push a coherent thought through the static in his mind. "How about Rinker's Diner?"

"Huh... Never been inside that place. Old man Rinker doesn't like guys like me." He looked down at himself. "But I've got my grease monkey clothes on, so he probably won't even notice me this time. Sure, why not?"

Within minutes, they were sitting in a booth as Elvis Presley blasted from a jukebox. Kurt was examining the menu closely, while Dave's sat idle under his hand. "I've been here before," was all he said to Kurt's questioning look.

_You make me so lonely, baby..._   
_I get so lonely..._   
_I get so lonely I could die..._

"God, they could serve spam topped with spinach and I'd eat it." Kurt wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Dave's lips crinkled in amusement, though he was careful to let no sound loose; he knew Kurt would not appreciate it, to put it kindly.

The waitress, a hefty woman with a nametag that read "Shannon" in cursive letters, appeared by their table. "What can I get you boys?"

"I'll get the burger special," Kurt said.

"The usual."

"Oh!" The waitress's face brightened. "Hello, Dave. Usual, coming right up." She scampered off.

"So... what IS your usual?"

Dave looked at Kurt's face. There was only openness and curiosity there, to his mild surprise. "Oh, uh... Bowl of chili, cheese fries, and a root beer."

"Oh." Dave couldn't really tell what sort of reaction _that_ was. He felt a little weird, just sitting there without saying anything, playing with a wrapped straw. But the little growl Kurt Hummel's stomach gave (and he pretended not to hear it, for his own safety) reminded him that it was probably futile to try to start a conversation at the moment.

It didn't take long for the food to arrive — one thing Dave loved about Rinker's was its speed. Within seconds, Kurt's lips were buried in beef and bread. Dave ate in silence, almost wishing he had a movie camera to record the spectacle of the rough and tough hood attacking his food like it dinged his car.

By the time Dave was halfway through his chili, Kurt was already finished with the burger and halfway through his fries. By the time Dave got to his own fries, Kurt was already snatching some from him. By the time Dave gulped down the last of his root beer, Kurt had long finished his chocolate milkshake.

"Oh, holy mother of God, that was good." He sat back in his seat, rubbing his stomach. "I seriously needed that." Kurt looked up at Dave. "Thanks." The word was straightforward, firm, and sincere.

"Uh... you're welcome. I was happy to help out. Dad always says a good mechanic is worth his weight in gold."

Kurt gave a wan smile. "Yeah, well, I don't do it for the glory or the money. I do it because I love cars."

Dave nodded. "Well, you're good. Really good." Kurt frowned, as if searching for insincerity or polite lies in the words. When he didn't seem to find any, Dave continued. "You're part of your dad's business already. That's pretty impressive."

"What? Oh, right. 'Hummel and Son.'" He shook his head. "I really didn't want it, but Dad insisted. Said I spent so much time helping out that I deserved a little of the credit. Been working there practically since I was old enough to walk upright."

Dave raised his eyebrows. "What does your mom think of that?"

Kurt's face twisted. He began playing with his napkin. "She died when I was a kid."

"Oh. I... I'm sorry." He felt like slamming his head against the table. How much more of an idiot could he be?

"Nah, it's okay." Though it obviously wasn't, not completely. "I was pretty young, so... it was a long time ago. It's been just me and Dad since then. Hummel and Son." He rested his carefully shaped head against the back of the booth. "Y'know why I didn't want my name on the garage?" Dave's spine tingled; he had a feeling this was _not_ something Kurt Hummel talked about a lot. That he was saying something to him, now, meant something. Though damn if he knew what. "Because now I'm tied to it. I'm stuck. I'll never do anything or get out of this hick down. I'll be the goddamn village mechanic 'til the day I die."

Dave cocked his head. "Why? Just because your name's on it?"

"Because I can't disappoint my dad, okay?" he snapped. "He's already done so much for me... I can't... I can't let him down."

Dave sucked in a breath. "He... You make him sound like a cool guy."

"He is."

"He must love you a lot."

"... Yeah. I guess."

"So has he told you he wants you to stay at the garage?"

Kurt looked up at him, a startled look on his face. "Well... he hasn't, but..."

Dave shrugged. "But nothing. Seems pretty simple to me. But what do I know? I'm just a stupid football playing jock, right?"

Kurt didn't seem to hear him; he still had that gaping fish-look. "But I don't... He... I..."

"Make some sense, Hummel," he chuckled. He got a withering, angry glare in return; _that_ was more the Kurt Hummel he was used to. "All I'm saying is you should ask him before you get all worked up about being stuck in Lima. If he says he does, you go from there. Otherwise, you're just worrying over nothing."

"But if I disappoint him..."

"Since when is asking someone a damn question disappointing them?"

Kurt opened his mouth, apparently to answer, but nothing came out. He groaned. "You just don't understand."

"Probably not."

"Since when were you Sigmund Freud?"

"Easier to fix someone else's problems," Dave said quietly, so quietly he was almost drowned out by the blaring music.

"What?" He shook his head. "You know what, never mind. Don't pretend to be some wise mentor who's going to show the poor, misguided hood the light."

Dave's hands balled into fists. "Shut the hell up," he growled. "I try to help out, and you just come at me like—"

"I didn't ask you to help me," Kurt hissed. "Why would you even want to?" Dave had no answer to that, so he continued. "People like you are all the same! You all think that just because I wear these clothes and have this hair and drive that car that I'm some kind of... of mindless thug! You all just want to drag me down to your level, conform like you! And when I don't, that drives you fucking _bonkers_! I'll bet you're really proud of yourself. You're the big scary jock with your letterman jacket, and all the girls just swoon over you. Bet you're the golden boy who makes mommy and daddy _so_ proud. _You've_ never had people judge you just because of the way you look. _You've_ never been a disappointment, or felt trapped! You have it so easy—"

"I... said... SHUT... UP!" Dave's teeth gritted so hard that his jaw ached. Kurt stopped talking, eyes widening. "First of all, I am _not_ the golden boy. That was my brother Jack, and he had to run off to California to get away from it. So my parents just moved on to their second choice. And yeah, I take it, and I try, and I conform, but don't you _dare_ tell me how I feel about it!" Dave's fingers gripped at his hair in agitation. "And _I_ have it easy? You're the one who...! You're brave enough to do what you want. You don't want to disappoint your dad? Well, I _can't_. I'm too much of a coward. And the worst part is that I can't even say that I—" He stopped cold.

"You...?" Kurt was still wide-eyed, but the word somehow still slipped out.

"Nothing!" Dave threw up his hands. "You know what? Forget it. Forget I said anything. You're right. I'm just too much of a stupid sheep to understand bright and talented and independent people like you. I'll just go ahead and rot in Lima working for my _dad_ until I die. I deserve it anyway." He got out of the booth, threw a wad of bills onto the table, and stomped out without hearing either Kurt's or Shannon's voices.

The glass door banged against the wall as he charged outside, suddenly feeling stifled under the heaviness of the sultry summer air. He pulled his keys out of his pocket, ready to drive off... then he remembered that he'd brought Kurt here.

 _Well, screw him!_ Yet the thought didn't translate into even the smallest modicum of action. He just stood there, his keys in his hand, staring at the bright empty blue sky, the thrum of distant car motors the only break in the silence. At least until the door opened.

"I would've left me here," Kurt's voice behind him said. It was as firm and detached as usual, except the slightest quaver that was probably just Dave's imagination.

"Yeah, well, that's the difference between us," Dave replied, not even turning around. "I'm not a jerk." He had other words in mind that he could've used, but that was another way he wasn't like Kurt; he couldn't just freely toss those words around without feeling funny.

"Maybe we're more alike than I thought." The words were quiet, almost inaudible.

"What, you're saying _I'm_ a jerk too?"

"That is exactly _not_ what I was saying," he snapped. "I meant what I said. Maybe... maybe I was being a hypocrite. Maybe I was judging you just the same as I complain about."

Dave laughed wetly. "That sounds sort of like an apology. I didn't think hoods did that."

"We don't, so you should feel special."

Dave laughed again, finally turning towards Kurt. He was surprised to see how small the other boy looked at that moment: hunched in on himself, shoulders sagged as though weighted from years of suspicion and hate. No hint of swagger, no sign of superiority. His heart felt like it seized in his chest. His anger, already waning, vanished like Kurt's cigarette smoke in the wind. Kurt looked... not broken, but... vulnerable? Not a word he would've associated with the guy, not before, but his eyes couldn't lie. Not about this.

Dave heaved a sigh. "Look, we got off on the wrong foot..."

"We seem to do that," Kurt said with a pathetic laugh.

"Yeah. We do, don't we? We may not like each other, but that doesn't mean we have to hate each other either. Maybe... we can just start over, huh?" He stuck out a hand. "Hey, I'm Dave. Nice to meet you."

Kurt stared at the outstretched hand for a moment, then burst out laughing. "That has... has to be the... _stupidest_ fucking thing I've _ever_ heard..."

Somehow Dave couldn't even work up the smallest spark of anger. He grinned wryly. "Yeah, I guess it was a little cheesy, wasn't it?"

"A little?" His mirth finally subsiding, Kurt wiped his eyes. His mouth opened to speak, but then closed again. Finally he said, "But you're right about one thing. We should just start over." There was another moment of silence. "And we should also be heading back." Though he had a feeling that was not what Kurt wanted to say at first, Dave merely nodded and opened the car. Kurt climbed in after him. "Next time you come back to this place, you should tell Shannon that we made up."

"We 'made up'?" Dave blinked as his mind processed the statement. "Shannon? Why?"

"She likes you." Kurt elbowed Dave in the side. "She read me the riot act in there for 'upsetting' you." He grinned wickedly. "Bet she's just your type."

Dave barked a laugh. "She's nice, but not even close."

"Maybe hoods are more your type?" Kurt waggled his eyebrows. "Puck and I have this friend named Lauren you should meet..."

"No. Just... no." Kurt laughed again, and Dave couldn't help but join him.


	3. July 1956

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to commission some art for this work; you'll find it below! (Art credit in end notes; feel free to commission her too, hint hint.)

**July 1, 1956**

"So that's the exhaust manifold. That's how exhaust gets from the motor to the tailpipe."

"Wait, I thought that was the starter."

"No, the starter is over there. You _are_ paying attention, aren't you? If you're going to waste my time, I've got customers I could be helping."

"Will you quit being so impatient? I'm trying, okay?"

"Well, try harder. God, I must've been insane offering to teach you this in the first place."

"Fine, you want to quit?"

"What? Fuck, no. I don't quit, not on anything. You're going to get this into your thick skull if it kills me. Or you. Preferably you."

"You keep it up, and I may be the one who kills _you_."

"I'd like to see you try, hamhock. Size ain't everything, you know."

"That's something only little guys say."

"Oooh, score one for Karofsky! You've got a mouth on you."

"I've got a good teacher."

* * *

**July 4, 1956**

Kurt rolled his eyes, lighting up yet another cigarette. His gaze barely flickered at the passing float, a tri-colored monstrosity cobbled together with paper mache and ribbons. "Yay, America. Woo." He waved his little American flag with a bored look.

"Not having fun?" Dave asked in an innocent tone.

"Oh, yeah, loads. I just _love_ patriotism. The ultimate conformity. You know I'm _all_ about that, right?"

Dave snickered. "Sure, and hoods know what 'conformity' means."

" _I_ do. And that's good enough. Besides, I would've thought jocks—"

"Okay, okay, you've made your point. We're both unusually smart." The local Masonic lodge marched proudly by. "I like the hats."

This time it was Kurt who snickered. "Me too." He turned towards Dave, heedless of his arm almost hitting the sparkler being held by the little boy next to him. "So, you still coming to my Dad's barbecue?"

Dave nodded. "Good call on getting him to invite my parents. I don't think I would've been able to come without that."

"Why?"

"Well, you're kind of..." Dave coughed. "'The wrong crowd' to them."

Kurt looked entirely unsurprised and unaffected by the news. In fact, he got a nasty grin on his face. "They're right."

* * *

The barbecue took place in Burt Hummel's back yard. It was nearing twilight, the oppressive heat of the day finally starting to inch its way down into something tolerable. Friends, garage staff, and a few select loyal clients, including the Karofskys, were in attendance. So were Finn Hudson and his mother, to Dave's surprise. Finn gave a cheerful wave and a "Hey, Dave! How's it going?", then made a beeline for the food.

Kurt, in the meanwhile, was sitting alone in a lawn chair on the far side of the yard, away from the clusters of conversation and laughter. Dave strolled over, munching on the burger in his hand. "Hey."

Kurt's head jerked up, then relaxed. "Hey." He watched as Dave sat next to him on the grass. "What, you aren't going to ask why I'm not being sociable? That's what Dad or most of them..." He waved towards the adults. "... would say."

Dave shrugged. "Nah. I _know_ why you're not being sociable. Because you're not the sociable type. You're a hood." His voice deepened, taking on the portentous timbre of a movie trailer announcer. "You're a _rebel_. You're a cool loner, standing alone in his fight against the rest of the world."

Kurt laughed. "Exactly! Finally, you understand!" He looked up at the sky, running red from the sunset. "Besides, we have a great view of the fireworks show at the park from here. This is the best seat, and I'm not giving it up for anyone."

"Of course not." He paused, his face twisted up, before he finally decided to ask. "I saw my folks talking with you."

"And?"

"And... I was surprised, that's all. I didn't think they would."

"Oh, they were very polite."

"They usually are. They never say stuff to people's faces. They just wait until dinner."

"And say it in front of you." Kurt's eyes remained on the darkening skies.

"Yeah." Dave shoved the remaining shard of burger into his mouth. After he swallowed it down, he vomited up words. "If they say anything about you, I swear to God I'll...!" He fell silent.

Kurt turned to him, not a hint of jocularity on his face. "You'll what?"

"I...!" Dave sagged. "I don't know. But it'll be something. And I'm not sure it'll be pretty."

Kurt cocked his head. Dave felt his stare drilling into his skull. "Thanks." The word was quiet, almost whispered, but it almost screamed sincerity.

"Sure. No problem."

They sat there, mostly in silence, until the fireworks started — quite a while, all things considered, but the adults were mostly too wrapped up in their own conversations to notice. Finn cast a puzzled glance their way once, but didn't approach them. It wasn't until the show started that the rest of the party gathered around them, oohing and aahing as multicolored lights played on their faces.

"Beautiful," Kurt muttered.

"Yeah," Dave said.

It was America's 180th birthday. Time to celebrate.

* * *

**July 8, 1956**

"A-and when he came out of that barber shop, the sides of his head were completely shaved, but he had this strip of hair just running down the middle!"

Kurt burst out laughing, holding his stomach in his arms. It felt like he'd been laughing forever; his entire _body_ ached. "Oh... oh my God! H-how did I miss this?" Sometimes Dave marveled at the difference in Kurt when he was like this. When he was relaxed, when he was open... It was like he was another person — though not entirely. There was always a fine edge to him that never went away, no matter what his mood was.

"Someone must've made him shave it all off before you saw him." Dave wiped tears of mirth from his face. "But oh, man, you should've seen him... I wish I could've taken a picture."

"That sounds _exactly_ like something Puck would do! How the hell did he convince the barber to...?"

"I wish I knew! He can be kinda charming when he wants to be."

"Brother, don't I know it!" Kurt happened to glance at his watch. "Shit! It's almost 2 already!"

Dave started. "What? Where the hell did the time go?" That had been happening a lot lately. They'd get to talking over lunch or some ice cream at the drugstore counter, and all of the sudden, bam! Hours passed.

"I gotta get back to work!" Kurt swept up his leather jacket as he scooted his way out of the diner booth.

"I gotta go too." He dropped a few bills on the table. "Keep the change, Shannon!" The waitress waved acknowledgment. As the two left, she gave them both an odd look. Dave frowned, wondering for the rest of the day just what the hell she was thinking about.

* * *

**July 12, 1956**

"BEER!" The chorus of shouts roared through the clearing the second Dave appeared. Soon he was being swarmed over by leather jackets and slicked-back hair, hands plucking cans and bottles out of his arms until the crate was empty.

"See, I _told_ you he was cool!" Puck crowed as he flipped his bottle cap into the darkness.

Though the entire gang of hoods was there, hanging out under the stars, Dave noticed Kurt first, the flickering light of the campfire playing on his face. He approached Dave with his hands in his pockets, lips upturned in amusement. "That's not all of it, I hope?"

Dave grinned, shaking his head. "Nope. The rest is in the car."

"Good. Then I'm going to get one." He vanished. Dave watched the other hoods drinking, talking, and laughing until Kurt returned; he heard a sharp crack, then the gurgling of a throat. "How do you do it, anyway?"

Dave smiled mysteriously. "I have my ways. But here's a hint: Mr. Ryerson makes me do everything these days."

"Well, aren't you going to have one?"

"Maybe later."

"And you don't mind providing alcohol to a bunch of hoods?"

Dave shrugged. "I think I've been hanging around them long enough by now. They're a bunch of pussycats, just like you." He chuckled as he felt Kurt's fist slam into his shoulder. "Besides, if they act up, I know you or Puck would kick their butts until they cried for mommy."

"Damn straight."

"You're half my size and you're scarier than me."

"You speak the truth."

"Hey, Hummel! Tell your trained gorilla that he did good!"

Kurt gritted his teeth. "Wish all of them were as smart as you."

Dave squinted into the glare of the firelight. "Which one was he again?"

"Sebastian Smythe. The blond. God, I hate him. I hate his hair and his stupid smirk and his oh so expensive car..." He threw his empty beer can at the ground, as if Smythe's face were right underneath. "Hate the bastard!"

"Uh oh."

"What?"

"If you hate the guy that much, you're gonna do something about it, aren't you?"

"It's scary how well you know me."

* * *

**July 14, 1956**

"Hold the light steady! I can't work if you keep moving it around like that!"

Dave groaned. Of all the things he'd been planning to do with his evening, sneaking out of the house in the dead of night and driving to an unfamiliar town with Kurt Hummel wasn't exactly at the top of his list. "Remind me how you got me into this again?"

"I didn't tell you what I was planning until it was too late for you to back out."

"Oh, yeah. Right." Dave waited, only moving when Kurt glared at him for letting the flashlight droop again. "And you needed me because...?"

"Backup. And for your car. Mine is too memorable; Smythe would figure it out in a heartbeat if he ever found out it was anywhere near here."

Dave sighed. "Are you almost done?"

"Almost! Stop trying to rush..." There was a light snapping sound as the padlock opened. "There!" Practically beaming with smug satisfaction, he pocketed his tools and pulled the garage doors open.

"I'm not even gonna ask how you learned to pick locks." The flashlight played about a perfectly typical looking, albeit large, garage, until it fell upon a familiar red Thunderbird.

"Puck again." Kurt rubbed his hands in wicked anticipation upon seeing the Thunderbird; Dave almost felt bad for this Sebastian guy. Within minutes, the hood was open, and Kurt was waist-deep within the motor, humming to himself when he wasn't ordering Dave to shine the flashlight this way and that.

"What... exactly are you doing?"

"It's very complicated. It'd fly over your head."

Dave wanted to take it as an insult, but if there was one thing he'd learned in his weird friendship with Kurt Hummel, it was that he was still out of his depth when it came to cars. So he didn't press. "This isn't going to... hurt him, is it?"

"What? No! I hate Smythe, but I don't want him _dead_. Besides, making him some kind of martyr would just make him even more insufferable. No, the pain I'm inflicting is even worse than making him crash into a tree. He loves this thing; it's like an _extension_ of him. If it hurts, he hurts. And holy shit, is this car gonna hurt."

The sheer gleeful venom in Kurt's voice chilled Dave's soul. He looked about nervously. "Look, you may not mind being put into juvie — again — but I've got a clean record. My parents would just let me rot, and I'd deserve it too, for going along with this..."

"Oh, quit your whining! Look, I'm done. Happy?" He slammed the hood shut, which made Dave jump. Fortunately, no spotlights turned on, no sirens started blaring, no guard dogs started barking. "Now let's go. And turn off that flashlight already, before someone sees us! Do you _want_ us to get caught?!"

Dave snapped the flashlight off, muttering darkly under his breath.

* * *

**July 15, 1956**

Paul Karofsky cleared his throat. "So, David..." Dave's fork froze in midair. He knew that tone of voice. It was the "we have something very serious to talk about" tone. And "serious" was rarely anything good. "I understand you've been associating with Burt Hummel's son lately."

"Where have you heard that?"

"That's not important," Paul said simply. "Is it true?"

Dave tried to will as much calm as he could into his face, into his voice, before he said "I suppose I've been hanging around with him a little. Why?"

"Oh, David..." His mother shook her head. "You're such a bright boy. You're going to do such great things. But being friends with that kind of person..."

"'That kind'?" He tried to keep the growl out of his voice; he wasn't entirely sure he succeeded.

"Your mother's right," his father said. "Kids like Kurt Hummel aren't good influences. And if any potential employer saw you two together, it might give the wrong impression. I don't think you should be around that boy anymore." He took another bite of chicken before continuing. "He's beneath you."

Dave carefully put down his fork onto his plate. He needed the slow, deliberate motion to calm himself, to keep himself from jumping to his feet and yelling. That would only make everything worse. Sucking in a breath, he finally trusted himself enough to say something. "I thought you said Burt Hummel was a good man."

Paul raised his eyebrows. "Yes, he is, but—"

"So you don't think he's a good father?"

Paul and Diane exchanged glances. "I'm sure he is, but I don't see what that has to do with—"

"So shouldn't I be safe with his son?"

Paul frowned. "Now, David, you know what I mean. People like Kurt are no good. They think they're rebelling against an unfair system, but all they do is rock the boat for no good reason. Society has its rules. Without them, we're no better than animals."

"You never used to argue with your father like that before you met this boy," Diane said gently. "Please, David, think about yourself. Think about your future. What could Kurt Hummel bring you but trouble?"

Dave regarded his parents for a long moment. No, they hadn't changed appearance or personality all of the sudden. But somehow, in that moment, they seemed... different. They seemed... human.

They seemed to be people Dave shouldn't be afraid of.

He nodded slowly. "Don't worry, Mom, Dad. I know what I need to do."

His mother sighed in what sounded like relief. His father smiled indulgently. "Good. I knew you'd see things our way, David."

They returned to their food. But Dave didn't pay much attention to his food — he was already planning how to meet up with Kurt in ways his parents would never find out about.

* * *

**July 18, 1956**

"... so you're a... 'right guard'."

"Yep."

"And a right guard... guards."

"Right... I mean, yes. We guard the quarterback from the defensive line and linebackers. We can't receive forward passes, though, but we can recover fumbles, which I've actually done a couple of times..."

Kurt rubbed his head. "Okay, that's enough detail for me, thanks. Sports and me are like you and cars — it's just not my thing."

Dave shrugged. "Fair enough. But I sat through your trying to teach me cars; the least you could do is learn about what I like."

Kurt's voice gained a lofty tone. "Cars are important and valuable machines. Sports are boring time sucks for cavemen."

"Oh, so I'm a caveman now? That's a new one."

"I can't insult you the same way all the time. That'd just as boring as sports."

Dave shook his head, a smirk playing across his face. It was night, and the two were sitting on a hill overlooking Lima, the perfect place to "do some drinking away from the prying eyes of parents and cops," as Kurt put it. Dave was still nursing his first beer; Kurt had already gone through three. Dave was surprised how well the slight-looking Kurt seemed to hold his booze; a slight blush to his cheeks was the only sign he gave, physically or mentally, of having consumed any alcohol whatsoever. But then, he supposed hoods had more practice.

Dave stared down at the twinkling streetlights of the town below him, the town that had given birth to him and his entire world for seventeen years. He tried to imagine other places, other people, beyond the blackness that surrounded the island of illumination. It was hard — almost impossible. It was as though all the vistas and people he'd learned about in history and geography class were... abstractions. Nothing real. Nothing seemed real, except Lima.

And, well, maybe Kurt. Kurt was _far_ too real for his own good.

"Thinking deep thoughts, Karofsky?" The sardonic voice that interrupted his musings was a case in point.

"Kinda. I was just thinking about the future."

"Well, stop. It's not healthy. Look at me; I'm perfectly happy just living in the now." Kurt grinned, but the grin slowly disappeared as he regarded Dave's faraway look, still focused on the town below. "So what about the future? You can't be actually worried about it, can you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're the all-American boy that most of the parents around here dream about. You're a football star, you get good grades..."

"Wait, how do you know about my grades?"

"Finn told me."

"Finn? Finn Hudson?"

"Yeah. His mom's seeing my dad. They met when Finn brought in his car a couple of months ago. Finn's dad is dead, same as my mom, so they started talking, and..." Kurt shrugged.

Dave remembered Hudson at the 4th of July barbecue. He shook his head. "Yeah, well... I hate to disappoint you, but I'm hardly an all-American kid." He looked down at the remnants of his beer, lip curled; he hurled the bottle into the bushes as hard as he could. "I'm nothing but a big stupid _fucking_ fake."

Kurt gaped; Dave wasn't sure whether it was at his uncharacteristic expletive or at the overall idea of what he was saying. "A fake?"

"Everything about me is fake. I'm not..." His throat started to close; he cleared it, twice. It didn't feel like it helped. "I've been a fake so long that I'm not even sure what I really am." Long silence followed.

"Oh, come on, you can't say something like _that_ and not explain it..."

Dave's mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He struggled to form the words... but how could he, when he didn't even know exactly what words he wanted to say? "I just... I just am!"

Kurt stared for a moment. Then, wordlessly, he put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. The tip glowed red as he inhaled; his exhaled smoke drifted towards Lima like a patch of fog. After a second long drag, he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth between his fingers and turned back to Dave. "You... are a fucking moron."

Dave glowered. "Fuck you!"

"No, really, you're a complete and total _idiot_." Kurt took several short, breathy puffs on his cigarette, as if hyperventilating into his smoke, before he continued, his face twisted in anger. "Because only an actually mentally retarded _oaf_ like you would think he's some kind of fake!"

"W-what?"

"You're really going to make me say it? Fine. You are about the _least_ fake person in Lima I've ever met. You... you've got actual _layers_. You know things. You know big words. You have this wicked sense of humor, and you've actually got this streak of kindness to you. You defied your parents to stay friends with me. If you're a fake, it's only because you seem to _want_ to hide. How many people know all this about you?"

Dave stared, his mouth working silently. Finally, he seemed to manage to push words past his throat. "I... um... I don't know what to say about any of that."

Kurt shrugged casually. "I've always thought my friends deserve the truth from me. And... you're one of the best friends I've made in a long time."

"I... Same here. I mean, there's the guys on the football team like Hudson, but..." Dave's head bowed. "All that stuff you said about me? Even if it is true, I... I couldn't show them any of that. I'm just big bad right guard Dave Karofsky to them. That's all they know, and... that's all they need to know."

"That sounds like a sad life," Kurt said quietly.

"You know it," Dave replied, equally quietly.

"So you don't want to go to law school like your dad. What _do_ you want to do?"

"I... I don't know. I like writing... Journalism stuff, I mean. I've written a couple of articles for the school paper..."

"Really? I'd like to read 'em sometime."

"Oh, I bet. You probably have a red pen all ready."

"Damn! You guessed!" Their chuckles were carried on the warm air. "But seriously, don't your friends read the paper? Can't they tell from your articles what an amaz— that you're a writer? And smart?"

"Uh, no, because I don't have a byline. All my articles are anonymous... and they're going to stay that way."

"But... why?"

"You wouldn't understand," Dave said quietly. "You put yourself out there every day. Guys like me... it's just easier to play the role, y'know?"

"So instead, you just bitch and moan about how helpless you are. I thought you were better than that."

"Hey, I didn't ask you to—" Dave blinked as the words started sinking in. "Well, I'm not. Sorry to disappoint you."

"You only disappoint me when you act like this. You could stand to be a little more like us hoods, you know."

"You can afford to be rebels."

"And you can't? What are you gonna do instead? Be the way your parents want you to be, screw what you want? What the fuck kind of life is that?"

"I can't imagine anything else," Dave said in a near whisper.

"Maybe that's why we're such good friends," Kurt said with a smug smile. "Because I help you imagine it."

Dave looked up at Kurt, silent for a moment. Then: "Yeah. Yeah, maybe so."

"And I'm gonna keep hammering at you until I make a break in that thick head of yours. I'm damn persistent that way."

"You sure are. Hand me another beer?"

"Here."

"Thanks." Dave opened the bottle and took a deep swig. He turned it over in his hand, the condensation dripping down his fingers. "Still, you're just as big a hypocrite as me."

"What?!" Kurt cried out in a perhaps not quite completely sincere tone of outrage.

"You say I'm a better person than I think. But I remember _someone_ thought I was just a big stupid meathead jock for a long time."

"Fine, I was wrong."

"Ooh, please repeat that. I may never hear anything like that from you again."

"You're pushing your luck, Karofsky."

* * *

**July 19, 1956**

It was the first time Dave had returned to the abandoned road since that fateful day he first met Kurt Hummel. Heat shimmered off the asphalt in waves, the late afternoon sun low but still intense. Dave wiped his forehead, then used his hands to shield his eyes from the dazzling light.

Puck was leaning across the hood of his Corvette, chatting with Quinn Fabray. She was the head cheerleader at McKinley, one of the most popular girls in school. No one knew about her little... thing with Puck, which surprised him, considering how much McKinley girls loved their gossip. Still, she had a lot to lose if anyone found out, her perfect reputation shattered just because she was hanging with a crowd that wasn't supposed to be "hers"... Dave gulped, telling himself there were absolutely _no_ parallels to his own life. He began looking around for Kurt before he could feel just what a huge lie that was.

"Fuck you, asshole!"

The shout was quickly accompanied by many more. The gathered hoods suddenly began sprinting towards one of the cars, forming a crowd around it. Dave saw that the car in question was a red Thunderbird, and he knew where Kurt must be.

Dave wormed his way through the knot of people, and his guess was confirmed. Kurt was leaning over the hood of the Thunderbird, glaring at the blond smarmy hood on the other side. Only the blond wasn't so smarmy at the moment — in fact, he looked as angry as all hell.

"I know you did it, Hummel! You just can't stand that there's someone around here who doesn't buy your bullshit!"

"You must've been dropped on your head as a baby, Smythe, because I have no idea what you're talking about. Unless you want to give your dentist a little payday..."

Smythe's hand slammed onto the hood of the car. "That does it! Race! You and me, Hummel! Right here, right now!"

There was an "oooh" from the collected hoods; one of them gave a low whistle. Dave had no idea what this reaction meant, but he knew it had to be significant.

Kurt's glare could've pierced the hull of a battleship. "You're on," he said in a low, dangerous voice.

The smarmy grin came back to Smythe's face. "In fact... Why don't we make it a little more interesting?" He drew a small wad of bills out of his pocket and dropped it onto the hood between them. "A hundred dollars."

There was a strangled gasp over Dave's shoulder. He remembered Kurt mentioning that Smythe's family had money, but the way he just tossed in that hundred bucks, as if it weren't even worthy of a moment's thought... He had an intellectual conception that some people lived like that, but to see it in person...

Kurt's eyes flickered towards the money, towards Smythe. Somehow, Dave knew just what he was thinking: _That's a lot of money. I can't afford to bet that and lose. But if I don't, Smythe will win. I can't let him win, but..._ Kurt dug into his pockets, frowning a little at what he found. He threw it onto the pile with Smythe's money anyway. "This is all I've got right now."

Smythe barked out a sharp, contemptuous laugh. "That's it? Uh-uh, Cinderella. When I win, I want a better return than _that_. Or maybe you're just looking for an excuse not to race me? Maybe you're afraid of showing everyone just how much of a little bitch you—"

"Here." The word was out of Dave's mouth before anyone could react. He slammed a crumpled up wad of cash onto the hood with the rest of it; both Kurt and Smythe jumped back, startled. "I just got paid. That should cover it."

Smythe stared at Dave for a moment, eyebrow raised in suspicion. He smoothed out the wad and fanned out the bills. He shrugged and threw it back. "Yep, that does it." He gathered up the money and handed it to one of the other hoods; Dave couldn't remember his name. Jeff? Nick? "Here, you hold onto this. Be sure to have it ready for me when I win."

Dave watched as the crowd dispersed, eagerly chatting amongst themselves. Then he felt an iron grip latch onto his arm and yank him away with startling strength — startling because he knew exactly who was pulling, and he didn't think he was quite that strong.

"What the fuck was that?" Kurt demanded.

"You've got your race..."

"Did I _ask_ for your money?"

"It's my money. I can do what I want with it."

"You complete numbskull! Now I have to be responsible for _your_ money! I didn't ask for that! You think that's going to make me a better racer, because I can tell you—"

Dave gripped both of Kurt's shoulders. Kurt stopped talking. (Dave made a mental note to remember that the next time the hood was running off at the mouth.) "Hey. Calm down. You've got this."

Kurt finally seemed to get a hold of himself, shaking off Dave's grip. "How would you know? You've never even seen me race."

"But I know you know that car of yours like the back of your hand. And aren't you 'H-Bomb' for a reason?"

Kurt's face screwed up. "I told you not to say that name in front of me ever again."

"Go with it; I'm making a point here. I wouldn't have thrown that money in if you weren't a sure bet."

A dozen looks seemed to flash by Kurt's face in that moment. "Well." He seemed unsure whether to take the compliment or yell some more. "Thanks for putting even more pressure on me."

"Like I said, it's my money. But I'm not worried."

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He shook his head. "Fine. Your funeral." He stalked off towards his car, just as Puck appeared and grabbed his shoulder.

"Come on! We'll watch from the finish line!"

He and a bunch of other hoods took up a position a little over a quarter mile away. In the distance, he could see Smythe's Thunderbird and Kurt's Mercury take up positions, their motors grumbling. A pink figure that had to be Quinn Fabray took up a position between the two cars, holding a piece of cloth in her upraised arm. Both cars revved their motors. Quinn dropped her arm, and the cars rocketed forward with a chorus of high pitched rubbery screeches.

The cars were racing directly towards them, so Dave couldn't tell who was ahead. The impromptu track was lined with screaming and jumping hoods, so they weren't any help either. Despite his expressed confidence (and it was 100% real), Dave found himself biting his lip in anxiety as the cars came closer and closer, the reflected sun off their chrome and steel dazzling his sight.

Even when both cars roared by, streaks of color and a blast of dirty air in their faces, Dave still couldn't quite tell who'd won, though he imagined he saw Kurt look out the window, directly at him, as he drove past. The hoods were cheering, but he couldn't tell for whom. The cars glided to a stop several feet away. Kurt and Smythe got out, and glared at each other. Dave held his breath.

A roar erupted from the hoods. They streamed like a pack of wild dogs on the hunt towards their quarry. There were whoops and back slaps and shoulder shaking. Jeff/Nick stepped forward and proudly handed over the money while the defeated watched with crossed arms and sour looks.

Kurt waved the cash in the air. "Beer's on me!" he shouted.

Everyone cheered. Dave nearly went hoarse joining them.

* * *

"Easy does it... Damn, you're heavy... Okay, sit... There you go." Kurt slammed his car door. Dave's head hit the window with a soft thunk. Kurt shook his own head. "You'd think a guy your size would be able to hold his booze better."

It was already nightfall, and the party was still in full swing. Still, both Kurt and Dave had their parents to worry about (though Kurt had no idea how Dave would be able to explain his hangover tomorrow morning; not his problem, though), so they were leaving early. The rest would drink and carouse until almost dawn.

Dave barely stirred as Kurt started the car and began to drive. He glanced over at the insensate form and decided to dare turning on the radio. "Memories Are Made of This." Not exactly Kurt's kind of tune, but it'd do as a distraction.

The car jolted as it ran over a bump in the road. Dave snorted, his eyes blinking open. "Hm? Wha-?"

"We're in the car now," Kurt replied. "No thanks to you. We're on our way back to Lima."

"Mmm, okay." He rubbed his eyes with an open hand. Dave fell silent, but his eyes didn't close again.

"You're lucky I was around," Kurt said loftily. "If it weren't for me, the others would've pickpocketed your share of our winnings the second you passed out."

"I told you you'd win," Dave said with a small smug grin.

"So you did. Not that I doubted it for a second either — I mean, it _was_ Smythe I was racing against — but you just complicated things."

"Uh... sorry?"

"You should be." He barely heard the DJ on the radio over his words, so he was only mildly conscious of the song changing.

_Keep a close watch on this heart of mine..._

Dave's eyes lit up. "Oh, man, I love this song! Turn it up!" Kurt did so.

_I keep my eyes wide open all the time..._

Kurt shrugged. "It's not bad, I suppose." But then, to his shock, Dave started singing along. His voice was rich and deep, entwining with Johnny Cash's so perfectly that it was almost like the two shared vocal chords.

 _I keep the ends out for the tie that binds..._  
_Because you're mine, I walk the line..._

Kurt looked over at Dave. His body was wedged in the corner between the edge of the seat and the car door, his left leg stretched across the space between them and his right on the floor. His arms were splayed messily across the back of the seat or his lap, his eyes looking at Kurt, yet unfocused. He smiled warmly (at Kurt? at nothing in particular?) as he sang.

"You're pretty good," Kurt said quietly. Dave's smile widened, but he just kept on singing. Without even thinking, Kurt joined him. His own voice was softer and higher (much to his annoyance), but he liked to think he kept up with Dave, their voices mixing in harmony along with the radio.

 _As sure as night is dark and day is light..._  
_I keep you on my mind both day and night..._  
_And happiness I've known proves that it's right..._  
_Because you're mine, I walk the line..._

A loud bang punctuated the end of the line. Dave jumped, his eyes wide. The wheel spun in Kurt's hand; he gripped tight to keep control as the car swerved right. With effort, he slowed down and pulled to the side of the road.

The tree-lined lane wasn't far outside Lima — less than a mile — but the town's outskirts were invisible behind a layer of darkness and shadowy shapes. Kurt rounded the front of the car, briefly illuminated in the headlights, before kneeling down next to the front right tire. He shook his head.

He heard a car door open. "What's wrong?" Dave's voice asked.

"Flat tire. Looks like we ran over a nail or something. Dammit." Kurt went to the trunk and opened it, pulling out the spare and jack.

"Need any help?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I'm a mechanic, dummy. I can handle this. But you should at least get out, so I don't have to jack up your weight along with the rest of the car."

"Fine," Dave huffed. He got out and simply watched, hands in his pockets, as Kurt placed and cranked the jack.

The car now partly suspended in the air, Kurt removed the hubcap and threaded the lug wrench onto one of the nuts. He turned the wrench; the nut barely moved, if it moved at all. _Dammit,_ he thought, _I didn't think they_ _were on_ this _tight._ He turned the wrench again, vocalizing his strain in a prolonged grunt. Nothing.

"Need any help?" Dave repeated, and goddammit he sounded smug.

"No," he snapped. "I told you, I can handle this."

"Suit yourself." Even with his back to Dave, Kurt could see him shrug. _Bastard_.

This time, Kurt straightened himself up from his crouching position, putting his weight onto the lug wrench. _Come on, come_ on _..._ There was a slight shift... yes...! But the shift was actually the wrench slipping off the nut. It clanged to the ground, sending Kurt with it. "Goddammit!" Kurt yelped as a shock of pain shot through his right hand.

Dave was crouching beside him in the next moment; Kurt wasn't sure how the man had moved so fast. _Must be that football crap. I suppose it had to be good for something._ "Are you okay?" he gasped, concern evident in his eyes.

Kurt nodded, rubbing his hand ruefully. "Fucking thing slipped. Sprained my hand a little. Just give me a minute."

"Here." Without asking for further permission, Dave grabbed Kurt's hand, massaging at the tightened muscles. "Let me help. We get these all the time on the field."

"No, I'm fine, I..." But Kurt couldn't get himself to say anything else. Dave's rough fingers were warm and somehow comforting over his. He gulped.

Suddenly, the massaging stopped. Dave's hand was now still, clasped over Kurt's. Kurt looked up. Dave was looking at him, mouth somewhat agape, with an expression that was blank for being too emotional. Kurt knew how he felt; it was like a hundred different thoughts and feelings were hammering at his brain all at once. He couldn't sort them out; the second he grasped one, another whirled him away. All he could feel was Dave's hand — all he could see were Dave's shimmering eyes. His heart was pounding in his ears, he couldn't breathe, and he would've wondered what the fuck was happening to him if he could think at all clearly.

He felt his face lift, even though he hadn't thought about doing it. He felt his body move towards Dave's, even though he hadn't thought about doing that either. And when his lips pressed against Dave's, moist and warm, he told himself that he hadn't thought about doing _that_ either.

Whatever the truth, whatever he thought before, he was doing it now.

Kurt closed his eyes; he didn't want sight to distract him from what he was _feeling_ : warmth, flesh, breath. He leaned forward, trying to capture more of Dave's lips in his; the other did the same, and Kurt felt strong arms wrap around his torso.

God, how long did they do that? How long did they stay that way? Hours? Years? Kurt would never remember, no matter how hard he tried. He only knew that he had to stop for breath eventually. When he did, he opened his eyes, just in time to see Dave's own eyes open... and widen in shock, alarm, and... disgust.

With a roar, he shoved Kurt away from him so hard that both boys stumbled backwards, falling on their asses onto the hard dirt. "What the FUCK?!" Dave's voice seemed to echo in the trees.

"Dave, I—"

"You... You...! All this time, you were just trying to—?"

"What? No! What the hell are you talking—?" Kurt scrabbled to his feet; Dave jumped back, pointing a shaking finger at him.

"Don't... don't come near me! You... you sick _pervert_! Don't ever come near me again!" He turned and ran, lurching on unsteady feet into the night.

Kurt just stared after him, too overwhelmed by his shock. By the time his voice, his muscle control, returned to him, it was far too late. "Dave! Wait!" He ran a few steps in the direction Dave had taken off in, only to see quickly that the other boy had completely vanished. There was no way to catch up to him now. Tearing at his hair, he slammed a fist into the hood of his car. " _Fuck!_ "

Fifteen minutes later, the tire was changed. He drove the rest of the way into town slowly, hoping to see a hulking, slouching figure walking along the road or crossing a street.

He didn't.

* * *

**July 21, 1956**

Kurt tried to get back into the routine the first day after the... event, but he was just a ghost, haunting the Hummel garage, mindlessly mimicking the routine he had in life. So the next morning, when he told his dad, "I need to take the day off today," he just got a nod in reply, without question or hesitation. He wondered how shitty he looked in that moment, freshly out of bed, his hair probably a mess and probably bags the size of bowling balls under his eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to look in a mirror or otherwise give a fuck.

So he did what he did whenever he felt lost or lonely or confused: he drove. He just got into his car and drove. He didn't particularly pay attention to where he was going, other than to stay on the road. He didn't turn the radio on. He didn't notice or care about the cars that had to pass him when he went too slow or that sent dagger-glares at him when he went too fast. He just drove.

He came back to himself when he realized he'd entered a small parking lot. Kurt looked about; he was still in Lima, but he didn't recognize this particular area. He turned to his left and let out a bitter laugh.

A church. Of course he would've wandered directly to a church. He hadn't been inside one for years, not since his mother's funeral. He had little use for the "God" fiction, and thankfully his dad didn't press the issue. But now that he was at one of his lowest points, obviously the universe directed him to the one place designed to give false hope and comfort to the grieving so they could extract cash and inject stiffened, stifling morality.

Oh, what the fuck. It was a Saturday, so the church would be quiet, and God knew that he needed a quiet place to gather his thoughts.

Within minutes, he was gently pushing open the front doors. It was stiflingly warm, only the barest cross breeze offered by the open windows. But the building was silent, the pews were empty, and the pulpit bare of life. Perfect.

He sat in one of the pews near the middle of the left row, the hard wood cool underneath him. He leaned over the back of the pew in front, his hands clasped. Kurt looked up at the front of the church, at the large crucifix hanging over the altar. He wondered if God was laughing if He actually existed.

"Hey!" Kurt started; a hefty black boy about his age emerged from a door near the back. His head was almost bald, covered by only the barest fuzz of hair, and he wore only a white sweat-stained t-shirt and jeans. The boy scowled. "What're you doin' here, white boy?"

Kurt wasn't at all afraid — more like startled. He hadn't realized he'd wandered that far from his usual haunts. It wasn't that he had anything against blacks — it wasn't like he didn't know what it was like to be ostracized for no good reason — but in a small town in Ohio, the races certainly didn't mix easily. "Sitting. And thinking," he replied, trying to put his old imperious look on his face. "Isn't that what churches are for?"

The boy approached, looking him over, looking his hair and clothes over. He apparently didn't like what he saw. "You don't want to cause no trouble."

"No, I don't."

The other guy frowned. "You making fun of me, _boy_? 'Cause I could fuck you up, easy." He raised his fists to demonstrate.

Kurt rolled his eyes, which fortunately couldn't be seen through his sunglasses. No matter the race or the background, typical male posturing was always the same.

"This ain't your kinda place," the boy continued.

"I know that."

"So you'd better leave, before—"

"Azimio!" Both turned at the shout. A black girl with bobbed hair wearing a simple yellow dress appeared at the same door her compatriot had. Her arms were crossed, and she glared at the boy — Azimio — with a look that instantly quailed him. Kurt himself was a little uncomfortable just looking at it. "You aren't done cleaning the sacristy, are you?"

"But...!"

"No backtalk! It has to be done by tomorrow, or my dad's gonna skin your hide! Now march!" She pointed towards the open door. Azimio cast a last glare back at Kurt before he stalked away, disappearing through the door. The girl waited until he'd gone, then approached Kurt, a warm and genuine smile on her face. "Sorry about that. He's not too bright. But at least he can lift heavy things."

He couldn't help it; Kurt laughed. "No problem."

The girl sat on the pew behind him, positioning herself just to Kurt's right. "Mercedes Jones." She offered her hand.

"Kurt Hummel," he replied, giving it a quick shake. He turned back towards the front, finding himself wishing the altar candles were lit. He always tended to lose himself, lose time, staring at dancing flames...

"Do you want to talk to someone?" Mercedes asked quietly. "My dad's the minister here; I could get him if you want."

Kurt shook his head. "No. I just... I just need to think." He turned halfway back towards her. "You don't seem to be worried."

"About what? You?" Mercedes laughed. "I know you hoods got this reputation, but I know a little about having reputations that aren't deserved. Besides, I know people. I see 'em come in and out of this church every week since I was a baby, so I got a lot of practice in reading 'em. And you..." She regarded him for a moment. "I don't think I have to be scared of you." Kurt didn't answer, so she continued, her voice turning soft and gentle. "If you don't want to talk to my dad, I'm here. I can just... listen."

Then she too fell silent, following Kurt's gaze towards the altar. He didn't know how long they sat there. He was expecting (maybe hoping) she'd give up and go away, but she didn't; he didn't know if he was annoyed or grateful. Finally, he spoke. Why the hell not? Maybe it'd do him some good to talk it over with an uninterested party. "I... I'm in love. I think."

Mercedes' face brightened. "That's wonderful! When?"

"I... A couple of nights ago, I guess. But I think... it started a lot earlier. I just didn't know it."

Mercedes nodded sagely. "It happens like that a lot. It just... sneaks up on you sometimes. It hides and waits until your heart is ready." She leaned her head against one upraised arm. "So what's she like? Pretty?"

"Not exactly the word I'd use, but... she's attractive, yeah." He had no qualms about lying to this girl he barely knew; if there was one thing he knew very well, it was what the Bible said about men... like him. With feelings like his. He'd seen the short films in health class, just like everyone else.

 _You... you sick_ pervert _!_

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment to chase away the memory. "She's... uh... smart, surprisingly sweet, actually," he continued. Mercedes was focused on him, on his face, as if he were revealing the eleventh commandment to her. Somehow, that gave him the courage to go on. "Funny, compassionate in h— her own way. I... I haven't felt as safe around anyone... maybe ever."

Mercedes nodded. "So... what's the problem?"

"It's... how do I put it? It's like... if I was in love with you."

Her eyes widened. "Oooooh." Kurt was almost amused by her enlightenment, how much sense it made to her, even though it was completely wrong. "So what does she think of all this? Does she love you back?"

Kurt thought about the moments before and during the kiss: the look in Dave's eyes, the gentleness of his touch, the willing meeting of their lips, the arms wrapped around him. "I think so. But she's... scared. Really scared. About what would happen to us if we were to be together."

"What about you?" Her question, as quiet as it was, almost made him jump regardless. There was a probing edge to it that felt like it physically cut him. "Are you scared?"

Kurt swallowed and nodded. "A little." He laughed bitterly, turning away in case the tears that threatened became reality. "You must think that's funny, huh? The tough rebel hood, scared of what society thinks."

"Well, I'll admit you don't seem like the kind who cares what society thinks," Mercedes replied slowly, "but that doesn't mean you can't be scared. But then the question is, is she worth it?"

Kurt started, turning back to her. He hadn't _consciously_ decided that a preacher's daughter would be stupid, but... Then the question sank in. It was one he'd been considering in many roundabout ways since that night, but it had never been put into his mind so directly before in any form. He thought for a moment — but only for a moment. It was a little scary how _easy_ the answer was.

"Yes."

Mercedes nodded sagely. "Then I think you owe it to yourself to try."

"But... she's really scared. She said she doesn't want to be with me, she's so scared. I don't know if I can beat that." His voice was foreign to his own ears: weak, frightened, mousy. What the holy fuck had Dave turned him into? No, it wasn't Dave who did this — it was his old enemy, society, that had done this to Dave, and to him. Made them afraid.

But even knowing that, it still felt... _wrong_ , the feelings he had. On some level, Kurt knew it was just what he was taught, taught by a society he _knew_ was screwed up and judgmental, but...

"It's the same with me." Kurt blinked; he'd almost forgotten Mercedes was there. "There's this boy, and we... It's hard. It's really hard." She brushed a lock of hair off her cheek; her eyes were bright but dry. "But I figured, what else could I do? Could I really just go on without him, live my life, be married to someone else five, ten, twenty years from now, spend all that time trying to seem happy when I'm not?" She looked straight into Kurt's eyes, as if trying to will understanding into him. "Love is a great thing. Maybe the greatest thing. You can't give it up, not without trying. Maybe it'll hurt bad after, but that can't be worse than spending the rest of your life wondering 'what if,' can it?"

Kurt could think of a lot of ways it could, but the basic message still struck home. It _couldn't be that simple_ , Kurt thought. _It couldn't be that easy..._ But no, no matter what he did from here on out, it would _not_ be easy. But simple?

Simple was the person he became when Dave was around: so much less cynical, so much more open, so much... happier (he hated using that word, but no other seemed to fit). Simple was the way he felt when Dave held him: safe, warm. Simple was the way he felt when Dave kissed him, a complex rush of emotions that nevertheless boiled down to one simple one with four letters.

Kurt had a _lot_ of four letter words that came to mind for this entire situation, actually.

"Looks like you've made up your mind." Mercedes looked so... smug. God, did he look like that when he was right? If so, it was a wonder that Dave hadn't punched him in the face weeks ago.

 _Dave_. It was a revelation, once he thought about it and paid attention, how much he thought of the guy.

"I have." Abruptly, before he could even think (because if he did, he knew he wouldn't do it — it just wasn't _him_ ), his arms shot out, and embraced Mercedes tightly. "Thanks," he whispered in her ear.

"My pleasure," she replied. They separated, and stood at the same time. "If you ever feel like coming one Sunday, we'd love to have you."

"Maybe." Which meant no, but Mercedes deserved at least that much consideration. For her part, all she did was nod in response. "You know... Mercedes makes some halfway decent cars."

She laughed. "Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should." It was remarkable, how different he felt now that he'd made up his mind. Gone was the fog of confusion and despair. "I should go."

"Go get her," Mercedes said. "God bless you, Kurt Hummel."

He couldn't help but smile. "God bless you too, Mercedes Jones."

It felt like the first time he'd ever said those words... at least, said them and meant them.

* * *

**July 30, 1956**

It wasn't until over a week later that Kurt felt like he was ready to take some action. Not that the time had been wasted; in fact, it was spent on something vital: recon.

He knew his own feelings — knew them for a cold hard fact. It was funny how readily he accepted them when he had no other choice. But Dave's? That was another matter entirely, especially when it could all blow up in his face even if he _did_ feel the same way. Though the more Kurt thought, the more he remembered all the time they'd spent together, the more sure he got that there had to be _something_ there...

But he couldn't just trust his own assumptions and feelings, not on something this important, and especially not when his homosexual tendencies seemed to be hibernating up until a few nights ago. Until he did that, talking to Dave — even risking getting anywhere close to him — would probably do a lot more harm than good.

The first stop was to Finn Hudson. Their parents had been growing ever closer of late, and Finn was making efforts to ingratiate himself to the Hummels, and especially Kurt, rather like an overeager puppy. It had annoyed Kurt at first, but now it proved to be quite useful.

The second was to mutual friend Puck. Dave hadn't been to any hood gathering since that night, of course, but Kurt knew better than almost anyone Puck's sneaky ways. Those would come in handy, he was sure.

Neither quite understood what Kurt was looking for, but both promised to help anyway, much to Kurt's relief; it helped that both of them also knew, and were concerned for, Dave.

Kurt's recent "time off" had caused the garage to fall behind a little, and Kurt was pouring every waking hour he could into helping catch up. It wasn't until now that he had time to relax a little and think. Fortunate timing too, because Finn and Puck reported in. Their stories matched perfectly, painting a picture that both told Kurt everything and troubled him greatly.

Dave was completely falling apart. He was "home sick" for two days following the incident on the road. When he finally left the house, he was pale and haggard. He practically sleepwalked through his shifts at the grocery store. Otherwise, he only emerged from his room to eat and use the bathroom. Finn reported that Brittany wasn't sure if he'd even showered during all that time. Puck had apparently spent an evening or two hanging around under Dave's third story bedroom window (how long, he refused to say). Since it was summer, the window was open, and Puck swore he could hear Dave crying late at night, sometimes for what seemed to be hours. Finn had talked to a friend of a friend who overheard the elder Karofskys talk at the post office about possibly taking Dave to a doctor.

On one hand, it was a slight reason to hope; surely Dave wouldn't be this badly off emotionally if he didn't feel _something_ for Kurt, right? On the other hand... Kurt couldn't find any excuse to put off action any longer, not after this. If nothing else, even if he was wrong about Dave or he was too scared to do anything, he knew he had to free his friend from this hell he was stuck in.

Even as he got into his car and drove to the grocery store where he knew Dave would be working that afternoon, he realized he wasn't sure exactly what he could say, what he could do. Dave was a lot more conformist, even if it wasn't by choice. With the family he had, he couldn't help but absorb what was expected of him, what he was _supposed_ to do, and more importantly, be. Could one person, even someone as bold as Kurt Hummel, break through that kind of shell?

Well, either way, he had to at least _try_.

When he arrived at the grocery store, he quickly found out from a sympathetic Brittany that Dave's shift had already ended, though she told him the route he usually took home. Kurt gave her a tight hug (just like old times) and took off in the proper direction.

Barely five minutes into the route-follow, Kurt saw a familiar DeSoto parked along the side of the road. It was empty, and the hood was open. Kurt decided to risk stopping. He found that the engine was still warm, and quickly saw the problem that had caused the car's failure. He couldn't help but "tsk" and shake his head.

"I would've fixed that for you, Dave," he muttered. "If only you'd come back. If only you'd talked to me..."

He leaped back into his own car and continued on the route. This time, he went slowly. Hopefully, Dave would stay on his usual path, even on foot, if only out of habit. He was soon rewarded for his patience; a lumbering figure was making its way down the sidewalk, feet shuffling and head bowed.

 _Dave..._ Kurt could almost _see_ the cloud of depression wrapped around him. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He had to be strong. For both their sakes, he had to be strong. He slowed the car to a near crawl, keeping it parallel to Dave, who didn't even look up, so unfocused were his eyes. Kurt leaned over and rolled down the passenger side window. "Dave!" he shouted.

Dave's head snapped up. His eyes widened, and a dark anger fell across his features. "Go away!"

"Dave, we need to talk!"

"No, we don't!"

"Dammit, will you listen to me?"

" _No_! Leave me the hell alone, you freak! You dirty sick _freak_!"

Kurt didn't feel the slightest ember of anger. In fact, his worry only deepened. He knew — knew from all the hours the two had spent talking. He'd heard it before, in different forms, in different words (like "fake" and "stupid")... Dave wasn't yelling at him. He was yelling at _himself_. He was calling _himself_ all these horrible names. No wonder he was so depressed... He was convinced that there was something wrong with him.

Why couldn't he see? If he felt anything like the way Kurt felt that night... how could that be wrong?

But then, Dave didn't have the experiences that soured him on what authority told him that Kurt did. He didn't have, as Dave himself once put it, freedom.

Well, there was one way to stop him, one way to get him to listen. If he responded by running away or lashing out again, then Kurt would know that either he was wrong about Dave all along, or that his fear was too deep for anything to penetrate. Either way, he could deal with that, and try something else. But if Dave actually responded the way Kurt hoped he would...

Kurt looked up and down the street. It was one of the back roads, bare of person or vehicle. Good. Now all Kurt had to do was _say it_. He started to, but something stopped him; all that came out was a stutter. _Dammit!_ Why couldn't he just say it? For his own sake, for his friend's... He had to just _say it_. He tried again, but all that came out was "I..." Dave shot him a dirty look and picked up his pace.

Kurt knew then why he was having trouble. Because of what it meant. Because it was, in its own way, a commitment — to action, to _Dave_. He'd never made a commitment like that before — hell, one of the big reasons he became a hood was to _avoid_ that kind of shit.

But now he had no choice. Talking with Mercedes had convinced him. This was worth it. _Dave_ was worth it.

So he took a deep breath, and bellowed some of the hardest, yet easiest, words in his life.

"I think I'm in love with you, you idiot!"

Dave stopped cold. It was the reaction Kurt had hoped for. He had to slam on the brakes to keep them next to each other.

"Do you _know_ how worried I've been about you?" He took a deep, jagged breath, trying to ignore the heat growing in his cheeks and eyes. "Do you have the _slightest_ fucking clue what's been going through my head, hearing about what's been happening with you? You're hurting, and I want to help you, but I don't know _how_! I— I'm not even sure I'm even handling _my own_ fucking feelings very well! I know you're scared... So am I! I'm as scared as shit! You're not alone, Dave! So please... I know that you may not want to hear this and I have no idea if you feel anything for me, but I don't fucking care! You _have_ to know that there's someone out there who loves you just the way you are, who doesn't think you're a sick freak or just there to mold into someone you're not supposed to be."

He was babbling. Somewhere in his mind, Kurt knew he was babbling. But he just couldn't stop. Not as long as Dave was still listening, not as long as he was standing there stock still on the sidewalk, staring at him. "Y-you're the best friend I have," he continued. "And I know this... what I'm feeling... I know it's okay! It has to be! I'll do whatever it takes to help you believe that too! Just... please let me help you! I don't care what you think of me or what you do to me, but I love you and I can't stand to see you like this and goddamn you Dave Karofsky you've turned me into such a fucking pussy but I can't help myself and..." He sniffled, desperately trying to wipe the tears from his eyes. Shit, why did he have to be such a goddamn fucking _girl_?

When his vision cleared, he nearly gasped. Dave was leaning into the open window, his own eyes moist. His mouth was trembling, and he looked like he wanted so _bad_ to reach out to Kurt. Finally, he swallowed, audibly. "Y-you said you wanted to talk?" he asked in a weak, almost kitten-soft voice.

Kurt reveled in the well of hope gushing up from inside him.

* * *

It was the same hill on which they'd sat and talked numerous times, the one with the gorgeous view of Lima. But neither particularly noticed the view this time.

Kurt sat behind the wheel of the idle car. Dave was conspicuously seated about as far away as he could get, almost plastering himself against the passenger side door. Except for the distant whistle of a train and the leaves rustling in the breezes overhead, it was silent. The late afternoon sun, strained through the canopy of leaves overhead, dappled Dave's face with little spots of light. _God,_ Kurt thought, _he's beautiful_. But he didn't say it aloud, no matter how much he wanted to; he may have been a hood, but he knew when a little delicacy was called for.

It helped that Dave just looked... fragile — pale and worn and shrunken in on himself. It wasn't just the way his shoulders were slumped, and his entire body looked like it was balling up, as if it wanted to eat its own tail and disappear — he'd actually lost a noticeable amount of weight in the past eleven days.

He knew Dave probably wouldn't say anything unprompted; he just needed to relax a little, process everything, get used to Kurt's presence. Finally, Kurt spoke — gently, since he had the feeling that Dave would jump through the car roof if he made any sudden moves. "Dave?" The other teenager's head shot up. Kurt gestured to the space between them. "You're making me feel a little like I'm diseased." The second the last word was out of his mouth, he winced inwardly. Of all the stupid fucking things to say... He was _trying_ to lighten the mood a little, but that was so obviously _not_ the way to do it that he was starting to think he _was_ a little messed up in the head after all — but not because he was attracted to another man.

"Aren't we?" Dave asked quietly.

"Why? People fall in love every day."

"With _girls_ ," Dave snapped. "Guys fall in love with _girls_. Not..." He waved vaguely in Kurt's direction.

"Not all of them. Some fall in love with other guys."

"Yeah, and they're _crazy_. They're messed up in the head! It's _wrong_!"

"You're missing the _point_ , David! It's not 'them' anymore. It's _us_ now. And _we're_ not 'messed up in the head.' Do you feel crazy?"

" _Yes!_ " Dave choked. "Ever since you... we..." He shook his head, apparently unable to even say apparently simple words. "I've been going nuts. I can't sleep, I can't eat... My stomach hurts all the time and I can't stop thinking about you..."

"I don't think you're crazy," Kurt said.

"I am! I have to be! I have to tell my parents. They can find a doctor who'll help me, and—"

Kurt felt the blood rush out of his face. The idea of Dave being sent to some mental hospital was bad enough, but the possibility (no matter how remote — oh, how he prayed that it was remote) that word could get to his own father, and _he_ would... "No! Please, Dave, don't tell your parents." He risked reaching over and touching Dave's arm. The other boy twitched at the touch, but Kurt noted that he otherwise didn't move or object. "Promise me you won't."

"I..." Dave trembled. "Okay."

Kurt sighed in relief. "You don't need a doctor. There's nothing wrong with you."

"Are _you_ the one who's crazy? How can you say that? I can't... I can't be _..._ _this_."

"You think this is fun for me? I may be a goddamn hood, Dave, but the idea that I could be tossed into a nuthouse by my own family isn't exactly my favorite thing to think about."

"Maybe... Maybe I can fix myself." Dave's eyes were wide with wild animal hope. "Maybe I can just stop being... homosexual." He choked out the last word as if it were physically yanked from him.

"Oh, right, it's that easy," Kurt said in a rather more sardonic tone than he'd intended. "Because men just up and decide to kiss men every goddamn day."

"How can you be so calm about this?!" Dave shrieked. "I'm sick in the head! I'm a goddamn _freak_!"

"Do you think I'm a freak?" Kurt asked calmly.

"I..." Dave's entire face seemed to fall. "No, I don't. I'm so sorry I said that to you, Kurt, I didn't mean to hurt you..."

"Think about what you just said. Does that sound like something a guy says to just any old friend?" Kurt didn't feel an answer forthcoming, so he went on. "You said you've been thinking about me a lot. What exactly comes to mind when you think about me?"

"I... That... When we..."

Kurt sighed. He understood, he really did, but his patience was starting to wear a little thin. "Kissed, Dave." Dave nodded rapidly, silently. "Did you feel crazy then?"

Dave's head bowed, watching his hands as his fingers twiddled and worried at each other. Kurt waited, watching a bird in a tree branch nearby tweeting out a nauseatingly happy tune. When Dave finally spoke, Kurt's neck nearly cricked from the sudden turn. "No." He took in an audible breath. "It... felt good. It felt so good... Like I was finally whole. Like I was finally happy..."

Kurt nodded, trying to keep his pounding heart contained in his chest. "I told you I dated Brittany. We went out for over a month. But... I didn't feel anything for her. I mean, I liked her, we were friends, but... I wasn't _attracted_ to her. At all." He laughed. "I suppose that should've been my first hint, right? If I wasn't attracted to _Brittany_ , then... But I thought maybe I just didn't like _anyone_ that way. Or there was someone else out there I hadn't met yet... Turns out I was right — just not in the way I thought." Kurt smiled warmly at Dave. A small smile lit up the other boy's face in return, which Kurt counted as a minor miracle, all things considered. And maybe a sign that of what _he_ felt...

"There was this boy. Summer camp, my first year in the Cub Scouts. We did everything together. Fished together, hiked together, ate together. Looking back on it now, I think... I think I felt something for him. I mean, we never _did_ anything — we were just kids, so why would we? But we hugged each other the last day of camp, and I still think about him sometimes... But I don't even remember his name. How weird is that? I mostly remember... how it felt when we were together. I always thought it was just happy childhood memories, but now..." He grimaced.

This was going better than Kurt could've hoped. They weren't _there_ , not by any means, but the very fact that Dave was willing to even contemplate this new aspect of his past... Still, no sense getting overconfident; he knew he still had to step lightly. "Dave... when I said I love you... I meant it. I want... to explore what that means..."

He could see the horror spring into Dave's eyes. But more than that... There was conflict there, as if that horror were fighting against something else, something not as dark, something that was pushing back against the fear... "I want to, Kurt... I want to so bad... But I... I'm scared..."

"You think I'm not? This is my first time around the block too."

"Yeah, but... It's like I always tell you: you're used to standing out. You're used to being a rebel."

"Then let me teach you. You've already been buying us beer for weeks; I've already got my claws in you."

Dave laughed. "You sure do." It was amusing, watching Dave's eyes widen as the implications of his agreement sank in. It wasn't so amusing watching the light drain out of Dave's eyes at the mere contemplation. "You make it look so easy," he muttered. "I look at you, and I think I could actually do it. I could actually... be..." He shook his head.

"Why can't you?" Kurt winced at the eagerness in his voice, but pressed on regardless. "If we make each other happy, and I think... I hope we do... then why can't we at least try?"

"B-Because I keep telling you, I'm not like you. I'm not strong. I'm not brave..."

"And I keep telling you that's bullshit! Besides, aren't... friends supposed to help each other? If you're not strong, if you're not brave... then let me help you be."

"My parents... They'd..."

"Screw them," Kurt snarled almost viciously. "If they can't love you — smart, funny, awesome you — because you fell in love with the 'wrong' person, they don't deserve you."

"It still feels wrong. I keep thinking that I'm sick, that I'm a pervert..."

"That's just society talking. And you know what I think about _them_." He smiled, trying to look confident. "I'm... just asking you to trust me, just a little. Give me a chance. Let me show you that our feelings are right."

Again, the war sprang up in Dave's eyes, in his face — the war between the fear and the hope, his upbringing and his feelings. He banged his head against the window as his head lolled back, groaning. Then he leaned forward again, so suddenly that Kurt instinctively sprang back. Dave twisted the key in the ignition and reached for the radio. "It's too damn quiet in here..."

"Your hand is shaking," Kurt said quietly. And it was, so hard that Dave was having trouble turning the tuning knob.

"I'm fine! I just need... I just need something to listen to. I'm fine!" He snapped the radio on.

 _I'm the great pretender..._  
_Pretending that I'm doing well..._

Dave looked up at Kurt in shock, as if asking, _are you hearing this too?_ Kurt felt his own jaw drop in a rather unflattering manner.

_My need is such I pretend too much...  
I'm lonely but no one can tell..._

Dave began to laugh. It started as a small chuckle, but it quickly swelled into a full fledged roaring. Kurt gaped for a moment, then began to giggle. Soon both boys were in hysterics, tears streaming down both their faces, Dave's open hand pounding repeatedly against the seat.

 _Just laughin' and gay like a clown..._  
_I seem to be what I'm not, you see..._  
_I'm wearing my heart like a crown..._

Finally, the laughter was subsiding. Kurt was gasping for breath, his sides and chest aching. The sunlight glistened off the tracks running down Dave's cheeks. Both of them were breathing deeply between stuttered guffaws, trying to retake the oxygen lost to their crack-up. Finally, the two were relatively calm. Dave wiped his face with one meaty hand. "God damn... The world really is out to get us, isn't it?"

"Finally, you understand." Their smiles faded, and the reality weighed heavily on them again. "You're right that I've spent my whole life ignoring what everyone else thinks of me. But that just means I didn't have as far to go to accept myself — all of myself. And yes, it's been hard, sometimes very hard, especially when I see that my dad would rather I..." Kurt sighed. "But I think it's made me a better person. Then again, maybe... maybe deep down I always knew I was... different. I suppose I tried to bury it in cars and being a hood. It just took you to make me realize just _how_ different." He put on as serious a face as he could, regarding Dave's now-blank expression; it was still somewhat disturbing, but a hell of a lot better than his self-hate or his anguish. "I know you feel like you have a lot to lose, and I know I'm asking a lot of you, but... I think you're worth it." He swallowed; this was the moment of truth. He stretched out a hand, placing it carefully on the seat between them. "I don't want to press you any more than you're ready for, but I have to know... And even if you say no, I'll still be your friend, but... do you think _I'm_ worth it?"

There was a long silence, the music on the radio completely filtered out of their ears. Kurt could actually _hear_ his pulse, the rapid bump-bump-bump so pressing and so loud that he wondered why Dave couldn't hear it too. He knew that there were so many obstacles in their path, and so many of them were in Dave's head; perhaps _this_ was the true test of how Dave felt about him. Kurt tried to tell himself that whatever happened, he would keep his promise and try to help his friend be happy, but he couldn't help but hope...

Finally, Dave moved. Slowly, painfully, like an old man stricken with arthritis, but he moved. His hand carefully, gently, fell over Kurt's, then wrapped it in a gentle squeeze.

Kurt felt his face light up. Seeing that, Dave couldn't help but smile himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picture by lauren (callmekitto @ Tumblr); many thanks to her!


	4. August 1956

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure I may just put up the last two sections after this fairly quickly, all things considered (including the way this one leaves off). It'll all be up by Monday, probably.

**August 2, 1956**

"What's the 'Mattachine Society'?" Dave flipped through the cheap little magazine.

"It's a national organization of homosexuals," Kurt replied. "They started in California, but now they're in New York, Washington DC, Chicago... That's where I got those, by the way, thanks to a very discreet friend who lives there..."

Dave stopped in the middle; his eyes widened as he read. "Wait, there are bylines in this thing... Founder names... Are these real?"

Kurt nodded. "All real names."

"They... They're open? They actually publish this stuff and put it out with their real names...?"

"The 20th century. It's a wonderful thing, isn't it?"

"But... but I don't understand! Don't they get all kinds of trouble?"

"I'm sure they do, and a lot of it. But I guess they thought that being open and honest and inspiring others to be open and honest was more important. We're not alone, Dave." But Dave was only half listening; he was too busy reading one of the articles (Kurt could barely see its title was something like "We Are As One: The Homosexual and Civil Rights"), his eyes still wide in wonder.

Kurt had no idea what "progress" really looked like, but if he had to guess, it probably looked something like this.

* * *

**August 7, 1956**

Godzilla roared, the artillery having little effect on its thick hide. Raymond Burr watched with horror as it felled entire buildings with mighty blows.

The hoods hooted and hollered. They were a blob of leather and t-shirts in the middle of the theater; Kurt and Dave were in their center, sitting next to each other. To the other hoods, this was natural, hardly worth thinking about; everyone knew that Kurt and Dave were friends. Hell, the first thing Puck did when Dave finally returned to a hood gathering the previous week was to give him a tight hug and say "Glad you're back, man."

So they were in a darkened movie theater. Their friends were preoccupied with the movie. They were surrounded by distracting hoods. The two most likely to be nosy, Puck and Sebastian, were sitting two rows in front of them, and were not going to turn around. There was no better time than now.

Kurt carefully moved his left hand across his lap, resting on Dave's femur. The bucket of popcorn in Dave's lap shook, but his eyes remained on the screen. There was a pause, filled only with a dubbed actor's yelling. Then, underneath the popcorn bucket, Dave's right hand slowly inched his way over Kurt's. The two hands joined, linking fingers, embracing gently in the shadows of the seats.

* * *

**August 15, 1956**

The car windows were open, admitting the music into the deserted hill. It was some big band station; Kurt had no idea what the song was. But it was smooth and slow, just what they needed.

"I don't dance," Dave had whined.

"Don't care," Kurt had said.

"Do _you_ dance?"

"Fuck, no. But it's what normal couples do, and if there's one thing I've gotta get into your head, it's that we actually _are_ a normal couple. So we're doing it, even if there's no one else around. Got it, friend?"

Dave had grumbled and groused, but in the end, he was standing out on the grass, his arms wrapped around Kurt and Kurt's wrapped around him, swaying gently with the music.

Kurt knew these kinds of moments were important — moments when he and Dave could stop thinking (because thinking led to what you were taught, even if what you were taught was goddamn _wrong_ ) and just... feel, in a safe environment. Such opportunities were rare; even their "dates" amounted to little more than average activities together that any two acquaintances could do, and even those were constrained by needing to avoid those who would report them to Dave's parents.

But when they did come... Kurt closed his eyes, letting himself feel Dave's arms around his waist, the press of Dave's chest against his. He gently rested his head on Dave's shoulder; he felt Dave's arms tighten.

"Feel good?" Kurt muttered. He deliberately asked that question all the time; he _had_ to get Dave to forget what he was taught, to lose himself in his emotions, to have any chance at getting through to him...

"With you?" Kurt felt Dave's cheek press against his. "Always."

The music eventually ended. But still they danced.

* * *

**August 21, 1956**

"Are you sure about this?"

"I've known him a lot longer than you. Trust me."

A pause, but only the barest. "Okay."

Kurt couldn't help but smile as they approached Puck. "Hey. Can we talk for a minute? Somewhere else?"

Puck raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "I'll be right back, okay, baby?" He kissed Quinn and followed them to a secluded area of the clearing. Both Kurt and Dave took a moment to look around to make sure no one was listening in; all the other hoods and their friends were in sight and safely far away, around the fire, preoccupied with beer, discussion, and making out with their girlfriends. Puck watched this caution with a questioning glance, crossing his arms. "You gonna tell me what's going on? Because I'm only buzzed right now, and I gotta get back to my cheerleader..."

"We've been... friends for a long time, right?" Kurt wasn't exactly sure whether "friends" was the right word, exactly, for the weird kind of relationship they had, but no other seemed to really fit as well.

"Yeah. So?"

"And you like Dave, right? He's your friend too?"

"Uh, yeah. What the fuck are you getting at?"

"We..." Dave coughed, glancing first at Kurt, then at Puck. "We're... Um..." His lips moved, but nothing came out.

Puck rolled his eyes. "Come on, spit it out. Or are we gonna be here all night?"

"It's okay, Dave," Kurt said quietly, encouragingly. "We've talked about this. You can do it."

"We... We're... Kurt and I, we..."

"Okay, now you're wasting my time," Puck groused. He turned towards the party. "I'm going back to Quinn. Yell when you can actually say what—"

"We're together!" Dave burst out. His eyes widened, as if afraid that his voice carried, but no one on the other side of the clearing so much as glanced in their direction.

Puck stopped dead. He turned back to the two slowly. "What?"

Dave smacked a dry mouth. "We're together. Me and Kurt. We're together."

The other hood's face scrunched together in confusion. "You mean... _together_ together?"

"Yeah." A shaky hand reached out towards Kurt; Kurt took it gently into his. "Together together."

Puck's squinting eyes boggled at the joined hands, then flickered from Dave to Kurt and back, several times. "So you two...?" He waggled a finger between them.

Kurt nodded, his heart suddenly pounding. "Yes. We're—"

"... In love," Dave burst out. All three seemed surprised at the words; Puck's eyes bugged out, Kurt gaped, and Dave turned ghost white in the dim light. But then, Dave turned and fixed Kurt with an expression so open and joyous that Kurt wanted to bawl like a little kid, harm to his reputation be damned. "We're in love," Dave said softly, in something resembling awe.

There was another moment of silence. Puck was still looking back and forth between the two. His empty beer bottle slipped out of his fingers and landed on the grass with a soft thunk. If it weren't for his nerves, Kurt would've found it hilarious. There were half a dozen emotions flickering across Puck's face, all there and gone too fast for Kurt to get a handle on any of them. It jangled on his nerves; when would Puck _say_ something? _Do_ something? At least then the suspense would be over. He felt Dave's hand tighten on his; obviously, it was getting to him as well.

Finally, Puck exhaled loudly. "... Okay."

Kurt and Dave glanced at each other. "Okay...?" the former prompted.

"Yeah." Puck's voice was quiet, but firm. "Okay." Then the hood burst out into a huge smile, one that felt a little forced... but just a little. "I mean, holy shit! Man, H-Bomb, I thought you were gonna be alone forever after you broke up with Brittany! Way to go!"

Both Kurt and Dave stared at him with dropped jaws; Kurt, for his part, had been expecting Puck to be accepting, but not to _this_ level. "Y-you don't care?" Dave stammered.

"Care? Fuck, yeah, I care! Two of my good buddies are going out! That is _awesome_!" The smile disappeared, replaced by the most serious expression Kurt had ever seen on Puck. "I am the _last_ guy who should ever be judging _anybody_ for _anything_." Then the easygoing smile was back. "Don't worry, I got both your backs. I'll go to the chair before I tell anyone." He slapped both their shoulders enthusiastically. "But you two better treat each other right, got it? Or I'll have to kick the ass of the first guy who breaks a heart." He stuck his hands in his pockets. "Now, if there's nothing else, I got a beer that needs drinking and a girl who needs warming." Puck shot them both a dirty leer before sauntering back to the others.

Dave stared at his retreating back. "Did... did that just happen?"

"Told you," Kurt said smugly. "Almost everyone else will treat us like shit, and people like Puck are rare, but... they do exist." He turned towards Dave. "Congratulations, we just came out of the closet to someone."

"I...?" Dave's face turned even paler. "We did..."

"And? How does it feel?"

Dave blinked; Kurt could almost see his mental gears working, processing. "I wish we could do it to everyone."

God, how Kurt wanted to kiss him then. Instead, he just nodded, reluctantly let go of Dave's hand, and followed his... _boyfriend_ back to the party.

* * *

**August 25, 1956**

Getting away for the weekend was the hard part. Fortunately, between Finn and Puck, they'd managed to construct a deception that would fool both their parents. So early that evening, while the sun was still strong in the sky, they climbed into Dave's DeSoto and started the long journey towards Columbus.

"How do you know about this place anyway?" Dave asked as he fiddled with the radio.

"You'd be surprised at the connections I have. Plus, people are a little more willing to talk about... morally questionable things around you when you're a hood." Kurt looked out the window at the scenery rocketing by. "You sure you're ready for this?"

"No," was the immediate answer. "But summer's almost over, and... I _want_ to." That was what it always came down to with Dave: what was expected of him versus what he _wanted_. Kurt hadn't given much thought to what would happen to them once summer was over. He wanted to at least graduate high school, as a giant middle finger to the people who wanted to keep him down, if nothing else. But could they avoid going insane hiding for an entire year? And what about after? Did Dave still want to go to college? He was unsure the last time he was asked. Could he take _another_ four years of hiding? Could Kurt? And should his opinion even matter?

Kurt shook his head. Too many sticky questions. But then, that was one big reason they were making this trip in the first place.

The ride was mostly silent until they got to Columbus. It was Dave's first time in a big city; the towering buildings and mass of people made him gape in the most hilarious way. He had to be informed by cars behind him that the light was green twice.

As the buildings and people became shabbier, Dave grew noticeably nervous. "This... isn't the best part of town, Kurt. Are you sure we're going in the right direction?"

"Yes. You may not have noticed, but we're not exactly the 'right kind' of people either." Dave didn't have an answer for that; he just mindlessly obeyed Kurt's directions until they parked in front of an apartment building that had seen better days. A bum shuffled by; Dave frowned. "I don't think you have to worry about the car, Dave," Kurt said with a barely suppressed roll of his eyes. "Come on." Consulting the slip of paper in his hand, the two went down an alley, shrouded in the shadow of the buildings that defined it. The reddish sunset light cast an eerie pall over the garbage and abandoned crates, graffiti decorating the brick walls.

There was no signage whatsoever — just a short flight of stairs leading to a door, and a tall, dark skinned man in a t-shirt stationed at the foot of the stairs, his arms crossed. The second Kurt and Dave came into view, his unfriendly gaze were locked on them. He stepped in front of the stairs as they approached. "Looks like you took a wrong turn, boys," he growled in a voice even lower than Dave's.

"I don't think so," Kurt replied. "We're here for the Cosmopolitan."

The man snorted. "Yeah, right." He gave them both baleful glares. "The Cosmopolitan doesn't serve your type. I think you should be moving on."

Kurt stuck up his nose as he returned the glare. "I didn't know that was your decision. We're going in."

The man didn't move. "Look, I know what you're trying to do. We don't want any trouble, but we're tired of you straight guys trying to cause it."

Kurt began to laugh; Dave couldn't help but join him. The man stared at them both with mild bewilderment. "Did you hear that, Dave?" Kurt gasped. "I think we're being stereotyped!"

"I think you're right," Dave snickered.

The man's face turned darker; he obviously didn't like being laughed at. "Okay, that's enough fun. The cops around here may not care too much for us, but they don't come by that often either, so if you two think you can just waltz in here and kick around the faggots and get away with it, you've got another thing coming!"

Kurt growled. "Okay, I've had enough of this." He stepped right up to the man, the two practically nose-to-nose. "I admire your loyalty to this place, but my patience is officially gone. My _boyfriend_ and I have driven for hours to get here, and I'm not going to let your narrow-mindedness stop us..."

The man didn't budge an inch; in fact, he advanced menacingly on Kurt. "Step off, kid. Or else..."

Suddenly, the man was gone from Kurt's view, replaced by a checked shirt hanging off a broad back. A reassuring, protective hand reached behind it, caressing Kurt's stomach. "You want to fight someone? How about you start with me instead?" Dave snarled. Kurt was torn between protesting that he could take care of himself and being lost in the excitement of having this big strong man fighting for _him_. It was kind of intoxicating, better than any beer he could ever drink.

It was at that moment that the door at the top of the stairs flew open, and a black girl in a glittering red dress came charging out. "Tony! You let them in right now!" she cried out.

The man turned back at her, startled. "But, Unique...!"

"No buts! I'll keep an eye on them if you're so worried. Now get out of their way!" The man took one last glare at them before obeying. "I'm sorry," she said to them warmly. "Come on in, boys." Kurt couldn't help but glare at the man in grim triumph as the two ascended the stairs.

Unique led them down a dark hallway, their shoes clopping against the worn hardwood floors. "Uh..." Dave began, "thanks."

She stopped and turned to them, smiling. "Please don't be too mad at Tony; he was just doing his job. We _have_ had a lot of trouble with straights coming by lately. Sometimes they like just hanging around outside and harassing people coming in and out. But sometimes..." The smile faltered for a moment, but then returned, as dazzling as ever. "I'll admit you don't look like our... usual, but then I saw big boy here step in to protect his lover, and I just _knew_ you two belonged."

It was too dark to see if Dave was blushing, but Kurt had a feeling he was. As Unique turned and continued to lead them, Dave leaned down to Kurt and whispered, "Did you notice that she has an Adam's apple?"

Kurt nodded. "Yes."

"But doesn't that mean...?"

"Yes, Dave, it does. Now quiet, before she hears you."

They emerged into a large, dimly lit room. Multiple sets of tables and chairs were scattered about, clearing only to make room for a small dance floor and stage to their left and a bar to their right. The room was smoky, filled with chatter and laughter as some fifteen to twenty people sat, drank, danced and talked. But what really caught Kurt's attention were the composition of these parties. Men sitting together, women sitting together, the men holding hands and the women stroking each other's bare shoulders. And no one else gave any of this a second glance, except to openly ogle particularly good looking specimens of the same sex.

Kurt rather felt like Alice in Wonderland. He'd fallen down the rabbit hole and appeared somewhere that didn't quite make sense... yet was weirdly familiar all the same. He heard Dave's breath catch in his throat. Unique looked at them both with a gentle smile. "First time at a place like the Cosmo, huh?"

"Yeah..." Kurt said in an awed voice.

"Well, you boys have a good time. Make sure you stick around for my performance at ten, okay? Have fun!" She waved and vanished behind the stage curtain.

Kurt and Dave glanced at each other. "So..." the former said to the latter. "Was this worth the trip or was this worth the trip?"

Dave nodded, not taking his eyes off the vista before him. "D-definitely worth it..."

* * *

They drank — the bartender noted that he probably wasn't supposed to let them, but figured the Cosmopolitan was already breaking half a dozen laws anyway, so why not? "Besides, you guys probably got stress most folks can't even imagine."

"You've got that right," Dave snorted.

They danced — actually danced together, with others watching, to big band dance music and to Unique's vocal stylings. No, not watching; said others were too busy with their own dance partners to give them a second look, and therein lay the miracle. Dave even got to dip Kurt low, almost to the floor, and the most reaction they got were a couple of appreciative hollers. The bartender had warned them to be ready to change partners to a woman at the sound of the signal, just in case, but that signal never came. Instead, they were content to just dance. Just... be.

They talked — talked for hours, especially with an older couple, Hiram and Leroy. They described how they met not long after Hiram's wife died, leaving him a widower with a baby daughter. Hiram had always hidden that side of himself, while Leroy rarely did, so it took a while for the latter's enthusiasm to draw the former out of his old closet. But when he did...

Yes, their lives together could be difficult, especially once they agreed to keep their relationship private so Hiram's daughter wouldn't be taken away by the courts or her mother's family. They had to constantly self-censor in public; Leroy had lost track of the number of times he'd reached over to casually touch his lover, only to remember and have to draw back. Hiram, on the other hand, thought he could remember every single time he referred to Leroy as an "old family friend," mostly because every time he did, it struck him with pain as fresh as when he forced himself to say it for the first time. "At least I can pass as white," Leroy said. "It would've been much worse for us if I couldn't." The casualness of his remark chilled Kurt to the bone; he could see that Dave felt much the same.

But at the same time, they'd been together for over seventeen years, "and every year's just made me happier and happier," Hiram said, giving Leroy's hand a squeeze. "Being able to come home to this man and _our_ daughter... Eat dinner with them and ask about their day... Fall asleep with him in my arms... Do I wish I could be more open with him? Of course. But I consider myself _damn_ lucky that I found him at all."

"It takes a lot of work to make love last," Leroy added. "That's true for any kind of relationship. Sure, we have more work than most, but in the end... It's worth it. I've never thought otherwise." They shared a fond kiss. Kurt and Dave glanced at each other.

By the time Unique was escorting them to the door, extracting all sorts of promises to return, it was past midnight. Dave was a little fatigued from his drinking, so Kurt took the drive back. As they navigated the darkened Columbus streets, Kurt noticed that Dave was wide awake, but quiet; he was staring out the windshield, despite the lack of scenery.

"What're you thinking about, Dave?"

It took him a moment to answer. "I didn't want to leave," he said hoarsely.

Kurt nodded. "I didn't either."

"It... it was like another world there. It was like I was myself for the first time in..."

"Ever."

"Yeah. It was like... An entire _room_ full of people like us, who understood... I had no idea..." He looked out the window for another three blocks before he spoke again. "Do you think we can do it?"

"Do what?"

"Find a place like that for us? Like Hiram and Leroy?"

Kurt knew Dave wanted him to lie, on some level — to tell him everything would be okay, and that they'd definitely be happy in the end just like in the fairy tales their mothers read them as kids. But Kurt wasn't sure he ever believed in fairy tales. "I don't know. It'll be hell getting there; I know that much. But..."

"Worth it," Dave whispered. "If we could have what they have, for as long... Totally worth it."

"Yeah." By now they'd reached Columbus's outskirts, and were on the highway home. Something warm fell upon Kurt's shoulder. He dared a glance, and smiled when he saw Dave's head leaning against him, his eyes closed and his breathing light and untroubled in sleep. Kurt reached over and caressed Dave's cheek; Dave smiled, and settled more deeply against Kurt's shoulder.

Kurt's eyes turned back to the road, back to the darkened highway stretching ahead, seemingly endless.

* * *

**August 28, 1956**

When it finally happened, it took Kurt a little by surprise. It shouldn't have, since he and Dave had been working together for a month to deal with this... thing, not to mention the fact that they were teenagers, for God's sake. Still, he was never quite sure whether the timing was right... until it was.

Dave came to visit the Hummel home one morning when Kurt had a day off. Burt was going to be at the garage for the rest of the day, then take a shower in the back room and go directly on a date with Mrs. Hudson. That meant that Kurt would be alone at home for most of the day. It was an opportunity not to be wasted.

The two were reclined on the living room couch, making out with an intensity that they'd never felt before. Their contact had always been tentative at first, gentle, as if dealing with a stray animal or frightened rabbit. But as the two grew more used to their new realizations, and Dave slowly weakened his internal fight against his impulses and feelings, their contact grew a lot more... intimate.

This particular morning, Kurt was straddling Dave's lap, their lips locked, hands roaming. It was all going so well — Kurt was carried away as usual. So he only distantly heard the clinking of metal, and didn't even spare a thought about where it came from. He did, however, spare a thought to the fact that Dave had suddenly stopped moving.

"Um... Dave? Is there a problem?"

Dave just stared back. Then his eyes lowered. Kurt followed his eyes, and saw the issue: Dave's belt buckle was undone.

For the life of him, Kurt had absolutely no memory of doing so. But it had to be him. And the more he thought about it... why not?

Dave coughed. "Does this... does this mean you want to...?"

Kurt cupped both of Dave's cheeks in his hands and nodded. "Yeah."

Said cheeks immediately turned a bright crimson. "Do you... do you know what, uh... to do? Because I kinda don't..."

Kurt couldn't help but chuckle. "No, I don't either. But we're red blooded American boys. I'm sure we can figure it out. Hundreds of men before us did, so how hard could it be?" His face turning serious, he used his light grip of Dave's face to meet his eyes. "So yeah, I'm ready. The question is, are you?"

Dave gulped. "I... I dunno..."

"Then you're not. And that's fine. I'll wait."

"Wait..." The word sounded almost desperate. "I mean, I'm not sure I want to wait. I... I want to. You're so pretty..."

Kurt frowned and bopped Dave on the head. "I am not _pretty_."

Dave grinned wickedly. "You _are_! Fine, how about 'hot'?"

"'Hot' is something I will freely own up to."

Dave laughed, but it was short lived. His face turned away, as if in shame. "But... I've still got these stupid fears..."

"If you're afraid, then I know they're not stupid. Only something serious would scare a strong, brave man like you." Kurt wrapped his arms around Dave's chest.

"Thanks. But... All my life, I was taught that I had to save myself for marriage. That... doing it... before was dirty. That thinking about it was wrong..."

Kurt sighed. _Of course_. Of course Dave would still have this kind of reluctance about sex. Hell, he couldn't even _say the fucking word_. He didn't want to push Dave into anything he wasn't ready for, but at the same time, he really hoped that Dave _was_ ready, because his pants were starting to get kind of tight. "Like I said, we won't do anything you aren't ready for... But do you want my opinion?"

Dave looked back up at the boy in his lap. "Sure."

"I think... since we obviously can't get married, then there's no real point into waiting for marriage, is there? It's a stupid fucking hang up put together by a bunch of Puritan religious nuts who want to control everything we do in the name of some non-existent God. We're here. We care about each other. We each think the other is hot." He smirked, and Dave couldn't help but join him. "So why wait? I mean, I could get into a car crash tomorrow, or you could decide that you need to get married so your parents can have their grandbabies..."

"Don't say that!" Dave's voice was so intense, so suddenly, that Kurt nearly recoiled. "I... I don't know which of those two thoughts makes me sicker, but please don't even mention you dying or me leaving you again." He took a breath, slowly regaining his equilibrium. "God, Kurt, I want you..."

"I think I can feel that," Kurt said with a nasty grin.

"... And I swear, I want to, so bad... I just need a way to get past my stupid fears..."

"Well... We have the rest of the day. That's something we can work on together. And even if it takes us a while, I'll be fine. I can... take care of myself." The grin grew wider, and Dave flushed deeper. Kurt leaned forward, until his lips were right next to Dave's ear; he could feel the larger teen tremble underneath him. His voice dropped to a whisper. "But I'll just be thinking about you the whole time."

An animal roar escaped from deep within Dave's chest. He swung a startled Kurt in front of him and pressed such a deep kiss onto his lips that it was like his tongue was trying to dig for oil. His hands attacked Kurt's t-shirt, actually tearing it off his body, desperately running against the bare skin. Kurt felt himself being lifted off the couch and carried towards the hall, and Kurt eagerly let him.

From there, everything... ran together in his head.

* * *

 _God, when did this become my life?_ It was just about noon, and Dave was in bed. Unusual enough in of itself (his father was always an early riser, and made sure his wife and sons followed his example) — especially unusual in that it wasn't even his bed.

Their naked bodies were wrapped over and under and around each other like pretzels, warmed by the summer sun streaming through the window. As Kurt said, they'd figured out what to do pretty damn fast.

And getting in a _lot_ of experimentation didn't hurt either.

It was _how_ they'd figured out what to do that Dave was considering at that moment. He'd just let himself get carried away in what he was feeling, let his body do what felt good, what felt right. And now that it was all done (at least for now), and he was thinking rationally again... He couldn't bring himself to feel the slightest ounce of regret.

He really was a homosexual. And he was slowly becoming okay with it.

Kurt was dozing — Dave liked to think that he'd worn the poor guy out. He gently ran his open hand up and down Kurt's chest as it rose and fell with his breaths. Dave felt so peaceful and contented that he almost wanted to cry. _This is what it feels like... This is what love feels like._

The fear was still there inside him, but it was less like that overwhelming, stifling demon that had gripped him since the night they first kissed, and more like a voice crying in the wilderness — soft and distant, begging for attention. It could return (God, he hoped it wouldn't, but he knew it _could_ ), but for now, it felt powerless in the face of his exhaustion and the porcelain skinned figure wrapped around him and the awe-inspiring _love_ he felt for that boy...

He rested his forehead against Kurt's. _Warm_... Everything was warm...

Dave knew that eventually Kurt would wake up. Maybe they'd go at it again. Eventually, they'd have to get out of that bed. He'd have to go home. Just the thought of it chilled his mood.

So he just settled in, slung his arm around Kurt's shoulder, and closed his eyes. He let himself feel flesh against flesh, forehead against forehead.

The warmth.

* * *

**August 31, 1956**

"I thought your dad would never leave." The rest of what Dave was going to say, if he was going to say anything else at all, was lost in the kiss.

"I know. I was practically hopping on one leg. I almost shoved him out the door." Their lips smacked against each other wetly.

"My parents just left for their weekend in Cincinnati," Dave muttered as his hands gripped at Kurt's shoulders, his sides. "We could've done this in my place."

"Sorry..." Kiss. "But..." Kiss. "The thought of..." Kiss. "Doing it in your parents' house..." Kiss. "Makes me wanna vomit."

"Hell, it just turns _me_ on more. Thinking about what they'd think if they knew what we were doing on their couch..."

"Oooh, naughty. I really _am_ a bad influence on you, David Karofsky."

"Uh-uh. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Really? Well, why don't you show me?"

They were so deep in their kiss that neither of them even registered the door opening.

"Hey, Kurt, I forgot my wallet, and... _What the hell?!_ "

Dave and Kurt separated, turning towards the voice in terror. Burt Hummel stared at them both, his face pale, his mouth open. A ring of keys slipped from nerveless fingers and jingled as they hit the carpet.

None of them would ever remember how long the horror-frozen tableau lasted. Kurt's and Dave's arms were still wrapped around each other. The front door still hung open, letting in the slight breeze of a late summer evening. A dog barked in the distance. No one moved.

When motion did come, it exploded in a flurry. Dave launched himself into a run, nearly shoving Burt aside as he tore out the door. The sudden absence of _Dave_ snapped Kurt out of his own shock. His eyes widened as he heard the DeSoto's motor turn over. "Dave!" he shrieked. He ran for the door...

"Wait!" He felt his father's arms grab him. "Kurt, wait!"

The screech of tires... Dave was tearing away like the Devil himself was after him... Kurt pulled futilely at his father's arms, trying to extricate himself from their grip. "Dave!" he screamed, not even registering that he couldn't be heard. "Dad, let me go, I gotta get to Dave, I—"

"Kurt, _please_!" The note of anguish, usually so foreign to Burt's voice... Kurt's memory immediately flashed on a time long ago... The only other time he'd heard that voice come from his father... The night he hugged his six year old son tightly and told him that his mommy wouldn't be coming home... Kurt turned. His father, his stolid manly hard working father... His eyes were glistening, and the faintest beginning of a tear was starting to shape itself under his left eye. "Please... I need to tell you something..." It seemed that his father had shrunk significantly in just the past few minutes; his shoulders were slumped, and his gaze was furtive. If there was one thing his father was not, it was furtive; he was a firm believer in looking a man in the eyes. But now... It was as though he could barely look his own son in the face...

"Tell me what, Dad?" The changes in his dad chased away enough of Kurt's concern for Dave that he let himself be led to the couch and sat down. The concern, though, was replaced with an ice cube of fear. His dad wasn't yelling, wasn't demanding that Kurt leave his house, but this was almost even _more_ worrisome. He thought he knew his dad, but... he had absolutely no idea what Burt Hummel was going to say next. There were so many possibilities...

_"I'm very disappointed in your behavior, son..."_

_"How long have you been lying to me?"_

_"I think you need professional help. We can look for a good psychiatric institute in the morning..."_

_"I need to discuss this with David's parents..."_

_"So, when's the wedding?"_

Kurt nearly laughed, despite himself; that last one was _not_ very likely, even if everything else went okay.

His father was turned in his seat, facing directly at his son. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "I..." Burt's voice broke before he could get the next word out; he had to clear his throat and try again. "I've known there was something... off about you for years." He waved a hand, forestalling the question rising in his son's throat. "Don't ask me how... A dad just knows." He took a deep breath and continued. "I swore to your mother, I swore to myself, that I'd love you and protect you, no matter what. I've thought a lot about that all these years, while I watched you grow up. And... now that I know why you're different... I..." He swallowed; Kurt's heart stopped. "I don't see any reason not to keep on doing it..."

Kurt sniffled; a salty wetness invaded his lips. "Dad..."

"I don't understand it... But you know me. I've never been much of a church man." He smiled weakly at his attempt to lighten the mood; Kurt laughed, though at the attempt more than the result. "I don't care what the church says. I don't care what anybody says. I know my son. I raised him. And my son is _not_ a pervert, he's _not_ sick, and he's _not_ crazy."

Kurt laughed again, louder this time. He knew he was teetering on the border of hysteria, but he couldn't stop. "I guess I know where my rebel streak came from, huh?"

Burt nodded, eyes shining brighter now. "Yeah... I guess so." He wiped his nose on his arm. "Things'll be tough for you, Kurt. I know you realize that. But I need you to know that... Anything you need... I'll do it. I'll protect you like a father should. And if you love that boy..."

"I do, Dad. God, I do..."

"Then as far as I'm concerned, he's family too. I'm not going to condemn him or you for being in love. Not unless he hurts you, then all that's out the window."

 _This is impossible. I'm not hearing this. This is a dream. This is not happening._ How could it be possible? His dad was a man's man. Born and raised in Lima. Steeped in the same society as all the other judgmental sons of bitches that made his life miserable. Even as he knew, intellectually, that his dad was kind and generous and loving, he still harbored the same question that must have haunted Dave every day: what would he do if I disappointed him?

How? How could this cesspit have produced someone like Burt Hummel? How could he have overcome the brainwashing and the hate and the conformity? _How_?

Then it dawned on him: it didn't matter, not now. He could ask and contemplate another time. All that mattered now was that his father knew, and still accepted him, still loved him. And he was willing to protect Dave too, like one of his own—

_Dave!_

Kurt jumped to his feet. "Dad, I'm sorry. Dave... I gotta go."

Burt merely nodded. "Go get your boy, son."

Kurt paused only long enough to give his father the tightest hug of his life, an embrace that was returned in equal measure. "Thank you," he whispered. Then he was out the door.

* * *

Dave slammed the front door shut. Vaguely, he thanked the heavens that his dad wasn't home to hear it and scold him.

But he'd do a lot more than scold once this got out.

Burt Hummel knew his dad. Dave himself had seen the shock and disgust on his face when he caught them...

Burt Hummel was going to tell his dad.

Dave's stomach lurched thinking of his parents' reaction. They'd send him away for sure. To a mental hospital? To military school? It didn't matter; it'd beat the homosexual out of him, one way or the other.

It would take him away from Kurt.

And Kurt... God... What was _he_ facing? What would happen to _him_? Something just as bad, surely... Maybe even worse.

And it was all Dave's fault. Because he couldn't just let things be. Because he was weak and sick. Because he only thought about himself.

He wasn't just content with ruining his own life. He'd ruined two.

He'd ruined a beautiful boy whose only sin was loving the wrong person.

Dave screamed, his fingers pulling at his hair as he sank to his knees weeping.

* * *

Kurt had racing experience, sure, but most of his races were on short, straight tracks. Now he was tearing through the streets of Lima, passing cars and cutting corners while all the while making sure no cops were around because the _last_ thing he needed was to be pulled over now.

"Please, Dave..." he whispered to himself. "Please, Dave, please be okay..."

* * *

Once he made up his mind, a weird sense of calm came over him. It was natural, he supposed, now that he knew what he had to do to make things right.

He yanked on the thick leather belt dangling from the rafter in his closet. It held.

* * *

The light was red. It was the intersection at Burton and Sixth; it'd take _forever_ to change. There were a couple of cars passing through, but not many. Not many at all.

Once he made up his mind, a weird sense of calm came over him. He floored the accelerator.

The Mercury blazed through the intersection. A flash of light passed over him, accompanied by the angry blare of a horn. He glanced at his rearview mirror; no pulsing red lights, no sirens. It was driving worthy of the H-Bomb moniker; Puck would've been so proud.

So he drove.

* * *

The note was the hardest part, but the most vital. It was full of apologies to his parents, for not being the son they needed. It lamented his own weakness and shame.

But more importantly, it exonerated Kurt. It explained that Kurt wasn't homosexual, but that predator Dave had terrorized the boy, made him give in to Dave's sick urges against his will. It was all Dave's fault.

And it was true; it _was_ all Dave's fault.

He hoped this would be enough to calm Burt Hummel's wrath. He prayed that he could fix just this one last thing for the boy he loved.

* * *

_Almost there, almost there..._

* * *

The note was on his desk, impossible to miss. He gently placed a paperweight on it to make sure it would be seen and read. He stepped up on the chair and looped the belt around his neck. He pulled it tight, the leather biting into his skin. There was pain, but it was nothing he didn't deserve.

He exhaled (his last breath on Earth, he thought), his tears cool on his skin.

_Please, Kurt, please understand, I had to fix things. Please forget about me, I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I'm so sorry..._

His feet were halfway over the edge of the chair's seat. All he needed was a little push...

Just so little a push...

* * *

Kurt could smell the burning rubber as he screeched to a halt in front of the Karofsky residence, right behind Dave's DeSoto. He could see from the lights shining from the house that someone was there, and thank God, the front door was cracked open. He leaped out of the car and ran headlong inside.

"Dave? _Dave_!"

His bedroom was upstairs, he recalled, a converted attic... He skipped every other step as he ascended.

"Dave? _Dave_!"

It took seconds, it took too long, but there was the door and there was light shining underneath and he had to be there he had to be okay...

He practically ripped the door off its hinges...

And he saw.

"Oh, God, no..."


	5. June 1957

**June 9, 1957**

Kurt couldn't help but shake his head as he shut the trunk, spitting his cigarette onto the street and crushing it under his heel. Between the trunk and the trailer hitched on the back of his Mercury were the entirety of his worldly possessions — at least the stuff he cared about. It seemed... sad, somehow, that his life could be reduced to such little space.

But then, one of the main reasons he was leaving was to find a new beginning. Maybe his life would expand to fit the larger world he was seeking.

Burt slumped out of the house, his hands in his pockets. As the date drew nearer, he'd grown more pensive, more silent. Kurt understood all too well; he hated Lima, but he loved his father. Hell, his dad was one of the sole reasons he could think of to actually stay. But Burt knew that too, and made absolutely sure that his son would not make a decision based on him. That didn't make anything any easier, though, for either of them.

Burt looked at the car and the trailer and sighed. "I had a feeling this day would come. I guess I thought I'd be used to the idea by the time it happened." He stared at his son for a moment, as if seeing someone other than the young man before him — a baby, perhaps, or an eager child off for his first day at elementary school. "I was wrong."

"I'm sorry, Dad." It was a silly thing to say, and mostly a lie, but it slipped out before he could even think of holding it back.

"No, you're not." Of course he'd know. "I told you, I had a feeling this day would come."

"When are you going to tell Carole?"

Burt sighed. "I'm... not sure yet. I'm just amazed we got through this year without her or Finn noticing what we were doing. I love the woman, but I still haven't gotten a good idea of what she'd think if I told her about you..."

"It's not like you have a lot of opportunity to get a read on her... at least on _this_."

"Yeah... But if I ever had to choose between her and you, Kurt..."

Kurt held up his hands. "Oh, no. I've told you, Dad, I am _not_ going to get in the way of your second chance at happiness."

"Kurt, nothing is as important to me as you..."

"And you have to start thinking about yourself for a change; you're not getting any younger, you know." There was a sneer to Kurt's voice, but it still made his father smile. "I promise, Dad, I'm not leaving for you; I'm leaving for _me_. It benefiting you is just a bonus. Besides... you may find out she'll be okay with what I am. If that happens... maybe I can come home for Christmas one year or something. Who knows?" He smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Besides, look at it this way: with Finn helping you out, you still have Hummel and Son. Just not the one you were expecting."

Burt wiped at his face with a sleeve. Not because of tears, of course; not at all. He circled around Kurt to the Mercury, eager to find something else to do. "You do a trip check?"

Kurt sighed. " _Yes_ , Dad. I'm not stupid. Besides, I know her better than myself by now. She won't be any trouble."

Burt rubbed the back of his neck. "New York City... That's a long way away."

"Sort of the point. It's a big city, someplace exciting and alive. Big enough to get lost in. Maybe find others who share..." Kurt shrugged with affected casualness. "You know."

"Yeah," came the reply, a little reedy and harsh through a dry throat. "I understand. Your happiness, Kurt... That's all I've ever wanted. I just... I worry, you know?"

To be frank, so did Kurt, a little. Lima may have been a stifling conservative hell, but it at least had the advantage of familiarity. New York City... _anything_ could happen there, which was both the appeal and the concern.

"Hey, I'm a hood from a small town," Kurt said with a confident smile that he hoped appeared genuine. "I'm tough enough to take whatever that place dishes out. Besides... I won't be alone."

"I think that's the last of it!" Dave declared as he carried three cardboard boxes out of the house. He barely staggered at all, and Kurt appreciated the view of bunching arm muscles and straining shoulders underneath the t-shirt. He balanced the boxes on his forearm to free his hand to open the trailer, then slide the boxes inside.

Kurt snorted. "You aren't impressing anyone with that manly display of strength, Mr. I Need Nobody's Help."

"Of course not," Dave said teasingly. The grin faltered. "Besides... I know better than anyone how much help I need."

_"Go away, Kurt!"_

_"David, what the_ fuck _are you doing, you cretin? Get that... that_ thing _off your neck and get down from that fucking chair,_ now _!_ "

_"I said go away! Go away, you sick disgusting... I hate you!"_

_"You must be actually brain dead if you think I'm going to buy that, Karofsky_ _! If you're going to be a complete_ moron _and kill yourself, you'll have to do it with me here watching!" A pause. "And I don't think you want to do that."_

It was a rough year — they knew it going in, and it at least helped cushion the reality when it got too bumpy. Going to separate high schools, only managing to steal all-too-short moments during evenings, holidays, and weekends... That was almost the easy part. Harder was Dave keeping everything from his parents. Burt had insisted on meeting them "to get a better read on them," so the Karofsky and Hummel adults (which by this time included Carole Hudson) had dinner one night. The next day, Dave asked, and Burt had sighed. "They're good people..." he began.

"But?"

"But they're... traditional."

Dave's shoulders had sagged. That one word, neutral enough on its own, was every bit the condemnation he'd been fearing.

Yet... There were moments in the past year, moments that would be treasured for a lifetime.

_The hoods gathered around a fire, Kurt and Dave sitting next to each other, basking in the warm glow, their hands just inches away from each other. Dave casually leaning forward to grab another beer, "accidentally" brushing fingers against Kurt's. Kurt sat up straight with a wide grin. Puck's keen eyes saw it, and he smiled gently at the two. Sebastian Smythe frowned in puzzlement, but he never did figure it out._

_The first football game of the season. Dave was reluctant to return to the team — how could he, knowing what he knew now about himself? — but he managed to put on the mask and keep hiding, as much as he wanted not to have to. Fortunately, Finn Hudson had his back (even if he didn't know exactly why Dave needed it), thanks to Kurt, and none of the guys in the locker room was the least bit attractive to him — not now that he had Kurt. But when he stepped out onto the field that first night, even through the cheering throngs, there was one figure that stood out: a figure in a black leather jacket, cigarette smoke wafting about his head, leaning against the side of the bleachers. Even from that distance, he looked bored out of his mind (and probably was)... Yet Dave couldn't help grinning through the entire game. Vic Lansford even asked him what was up; Dave could only shake his head and chuckle._

_Christmas. After the traditional opening of presents and church service, Dave made a beeline for the Hummels'. Kurt met him out back. They exchanged gifts; cheap gifts meant for a teenager's money issues. Kurt gave Dave a new football. Dave gave Kurt a shiny Zippo (with a warning that he still didn't particularly like it when Kurt smoked; the smell was kind of overwhelming sometimes when they were close). They took each other's gifts, turning them over in their hands with awe, as if they held the Holy Grail or a gold bar. They embraced, heedless of the snow sticking to their hair._

_The first drive of spring. The windows were rolled down, blasting both occupants with the still slightly chilly wind. They drove until they were alone on the road. They sang along with the radio. They made rather cramped love in the backseat (an experience they both agreed that they had to have at least once — and now that they did, they never had to do again, to the relief of their necks and backs)._

_Graduation. They met halfway, still in their caps and gowns (and how Dave resisted the mighty urge to tease Kurt, the hood, in his oh so traditional garb — he liked his heart in his rib cage, thank you very much). Dave held up his diploma, Kurt held up his. They kissed, knowing what this meant: survival. Opportunity. Freedom._

And now... Summer again. One year since they'd first met. One year since everything fell apart... and came together.

Kurt ran a hand over Dave's forearm, the fine hairs tickling his fingertips. It was mid-morning on a Sunday; most people on their street, including Carole and Finn Hudson, were at church, giving them a modicum of privacy for such small gestures. "All I'm saying is that you try to handle too much by yourself. If you need help... Just ask the people who love you." His voice grew stronger, more cutting. "Besides, I _can_ lift boxes, you know. It's not _that_ difficult."

Dave chuckled, the pensiveness vanishing like morning mist. "Yeah, but isn't that the only thing meathead jocks are good for?"

"Of course. So it's lucky for us both you're not a meathead."

They laughed — all three of them. Dave turned towards Burt, as if only just realizing he was standing there; his smile gave way. He stepped towards the older man, his hands worrying at each other. There was something soft in Dave's eyes that he'd never seen there before, yet seemed intimately familiar.

"Yes, Dave?" Burt asked softly, as if he saw it too.

"Mr. Hummel, I... I..."

_"He... He really is okay with it? He's... not going to tell my dad?"_

_"No, he won't. I_ promise _you, David, he won't. In fact, he's going to help us get through this year, then get out of this hick town. Together."_

_"And... and I almost... Oh, God, Kurt, I'm such a stupid coward..."_

_"Shh... Leave the insults to me. I've got a million of them, and I want to use a few more on you. Shit, David, how could you? How could you think that leaving me behind was something I could_ possibly _want?"_

_"I'm so sorry, Kurt..."_

_"You'd better be, mister. You just scared a dozen years out of me and nearly gave me a heart attack, so you're going to spend the rest of your life making it up to me. If you_ ever _leave me again, I am going to hunt you down and you're going to_ wish _you'd hung yourself! Do... Do I make myself..." Sniffle. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?"_

_"Perfectly. God, Kurt, I love you..."_

_"I love you too..."_

If Burt Hummel amazed Kurt with his love and acceptance, then he completely and utterly blew Dave Karofsky's mind. Burt gave him an afterschool and weekend job at the garage, reassured Dave's questioning parents. Burt gave him and Kurt privacy when they all knew that he was more than a little disgusted and leery about what Dave and Kurt did with that privacy. Burt gave David attention and advice and unconditional love. Burt gave David another father — a "real" father, as Kurt would put it — for an entire year. Kurt actually wondered whether he or David was more reluctant to leave Burt behind.

"I don't know how to thank you," Dave said hoarsely. "I'm not even your kid, and I can never repay everything you've done for me..."

"Dave, I didn't do anything expecting repayment. I did it because it was the right thing to do. Because you needed it. And because my son loves you. That's all the reason I needed." He paused. "I can think of one thing you can do, though..."

"Anything. I mean that, sir — anything."

Burt smiled. "Treat Kurt right. Take him out to seafood once in a while. He won't tell you for some reason, but he loves it. And get him to quit smoking. My old man died of lung cancer, and I don't want the same for him." His voice dropped to a mock whisper. "And if you can do something about his hair..."

"Dad!" Kurt burst out, turning scarlet.

Dave laughed. "I'll try, Mr. Hummel. But you know him..." He arched a cheeky eyebrow at his lover. "Stubborn as all get out."

"Don't I know it!"

"Both of you are going to pay!" Kurt groused.

"But I promise I'll work on him," Dave continued. "It'll take a while, but I figure..." He shrugged. "We've got the rest of our lives, right?"

There was a moment of deep silence. Kurt was almost gaping, his eyes shining. Dave's head was somewhat bowed, kicking at the nothing at his feet. Only Burt seemed to not react, still regarding Dave with the same serious expression. It was Burt who finally spoke. "I hope so." He stepped forward and pulled Dave into an embrace. Dave returned it just as tightly, clutching at the older man's back. It felt like a long minute before they parted.

"I just want you two to know... If you ever need anything, I'll—" His eyes suddenly went wide, staring at something behind Dave's back. Kurt also turned pale. Dave whirled around, and saw it: a Chevy pulling up to the curb behind him, then discharging his mother and father.

"David!" the latter called out.

"Dad? Mom...?" Dave stammered. "W-what are you doing here? Church isn't over for another half hour." He winced at his own idiocy, but in his shock, it was the only thing he could think about, wonder about.

"Father Mitchell was ill," Paul replied, a deep rumbling tension in his voice. "We came home, and found your letter." He stepped forward towards his son, who recoiled; the elder Karofsky's eyes widened at this, startled. "David, what's going on? Your letter said you weren't going to law school?!"

"No, Dad, I'm not. I never wanted to go."

"And you're... leaving Lima? With _him_?" He pointed at Kurt, who was not at all nonplussed; he merely folded his arms defiantly.

Dave nodded. "That's right. Kurt and I are..." He trailed off, glancing behind him at the Hummels. Their faces told him that they agreed: Dave's parents probably weren't ready for the truth. Maybe they'd never be ready. "Friends. He actually understands me..."

"I knew it! This is _his_ fault!" Paul shouted.

Burt stepped forward. "Now wait just one minute..."

"Shut up!" Paul snapped. "Your... your _hoodlum_ of a boy has corrupted my son!"

"Don't talk about Kurt like that!" Dave yelled. "He didn't 'corrupt' me! He just showed me that I'm fine the way I am! That I don't _need_ to do what you want!"

"But David..." His mother spoke up for the first time, tremulous. "Where... where are you going?"

"New York City." Unique had pointed them in that direction, to a cousin in Greenwich Village who knew of a cheap apartment. Greenwich Village was apparently packed with artists and other bohemians. Even if the rest of the city wasn't accepting, there were thousands upon thousands of people there — perfect for a couple of gay men to go about their lives unnoticed.

"You're not even going to college?" his mother said insistently.

Dave shook his head. "I can't." The thought of spending another four years having to hide... Another four years of forces molding him into someone he wasn't... Despite Burt's warnings to think it over carefully, he knew he couldn't do it. His stomach rebelled at the mere thought.

"Why not?" Paul demanded.

"It's... complicated. I can't explain..."

"Fine, then, explain this: if you're not going to law school, what on earth are you going to do? You don't have any money..."

"I do. I've saved up every penny I earned at the garage and the grocery store." He supposed, looking back on it, he was always tempted by the idea of running, thus his lack of spending. He just never thought he'd ever _do_ it... Not before Kurt.

"And what are you going to do for a living?"

"I'm... I'm going to write." Thanks to Unique's cousin's connections, he already had a trial freelance job writing for a couple of gay publications, covering events, protests, and other political activities in the city. One thing he and Kurt agreed on was that they'd do their best to become active in the homosexual rights movement, to prevent anyone else from feeling as cornered and trapped as Dave had.

"I'm also going to work construction," Dave continued, his voice as level as he could make it. "I figure I'm big enough, and there's always going to be work there. Kurt's a mechanic, so I don't think he'll have a problem getting a job somewhere."

"You're going to be constantly scrambling to make ends meet!" Paul said. "You'll be lucky if you ever have savings, and... What the hell kind of life is that?"

 _A life with less fear_ , Dave thought. _A life doing what I love, being with the man I love..._ "It'll be worth it," Dave said firmly.

" _What_ will worth it? David, I don't understand..." Paul turned to Burt Hummel in something startlingly resembling desperation. "Burt, you have to help me stop this..."

All he got in reply was a shrug. "David just turned 18 a few days ago, didn't he? Nothing we can do to legally stop him. You know that."

" _Tell them_! Tell them this is a mistake! Tell them they're throwing their lives away!"

If Burt had been pressed to tell the truth, he would've said that he'd spent many a sleepless night thinking about this very thing. Kurt and David were young; they were going to a big city where they hardly knew anyone. They had a few skills on which to make a living, sure, but would it be nearly enough? And what about their future? Were they prepared for whatever could come their way, for the rest of their lives?

On the other hand... was a life in Lima, or even the "average" life Paul Karofsky had, any better for them? He'd seen his brilliant, outgoing son beaten down by judgment and scorn. He saw David, a talented and loving kid, nearly kill himself because of those same pressures. Burt had a horrible feeling that if they, especially David, stayed within the confines permitted by society any longer, they'd go mad — perhaps literally, now that they saw what lay outside those walls.

It was almost a no-win situation. And if they had to make a choice... why not the one that bore the _chance_ of happiness?

"I trust my son's judgment," Burt replied calmly. "You should trust yours too. He's a smart boy."

"I can't believe this...!" Paul whirled on his son. "If you persist in this foolishness, don't expect any kind of support from us!"

"Paul, please, wait...!"

"I'm sorry, Diane, but I've had enough. David suddenly ups and abandons all his dreams—"

" _Your_ dreams," Dave interrupted. "And if I had the courage, I would've done it a long time ago."

"And you won't even tell me _why_! What's going on? What's happened that made you do all this?"

Dave shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Dad... Maybe someday." Paul could only groan in sheer frustration.

"There's nothing I can do or say... is there?" Dave was stunned at how weak his Dad's voice had suddenly become. He could only shake his head in reply.

"Well." Everyone started a bit at Kurt's voice; most had forgotten he was even there. "It was _swell_ meeting you again, Mr. and Mrs. Karofsky, but we need to get on the road. I'll be sure David calls you once we get settled in in New York."

Dave was sure his father's response would be something like "don't bother." Instead, he just nodded dumbly, his face drawn and worn in helplessness. Caught up in an impulse that came out of nowhere, he extended his hand for his father to shake. Paul Karofsky merely stared down at it, unmoving. Dave knew from the look on his face that it was not out of anger or disgust; he was in shock, his mind unable to accept what was happening. So Dave moved on to his mother; he hugged her tightly, which she returned.

"If you ever want to call," she whispered in his ear, "just to let me know how you're doing... Call during the day, while your father's at work." Before he could reply, she separated from him, rubbing his cheek affectionately.

"Why don't you two come inside?" Burt said to the Karofskys. "We can have a cup of coffee, talk." Then he approached his son, and swept him up in a tight embrace. Kurt returned the hug, not even ashamed of the tears dripping onto his father's shoulder. "Have a good trip, son. Be careful out there."

"We'll call and write, I promise."

"You'd better." He nodded towards Dave. "Good luck to you, Dave."

"Thanks, Mr. Hummel." The two watched as Burt gently led the still shell-shocked Karofskys up the walk. The boys turned to each other. "We should get going," Dave said.

"We should." The two climbed into the Mercury. Kurt started up the engine, its roar splitting the suburban quiet. Dave saw all three adults turn towards them at the sound; Burt Hummel looked wistful, his parents still dazed (though was that a tremble to his father's lower lip? Nah, must've been his imagination). They watched as the Mercury pulled away from the curb and drove away.

Dave stared out the windshield, not blinking. Kurt glanced over. "Dave? You okay?"

"We're doing this," he whispered. "We're actually doing this."

"Or maybe you're still in bed, dreaming, and we haven't actually met," Kurt said in a deadpan.

"In that case... I hope I never wake up."

Kurt snorted. "I thought manly jocks didn't go for mush like that."

"And I thought hoodlum delinquents only cared about smoking and cars."

"That's not true. I also care about drinking."

They laughed, a warm and rich sound that filled the car. It was as though the tension was flying out through the open windows.

It all only hit Dave later that day. He was napping when Kurt's voice gently nudged him awake. "Dave? Dave..."

He blinked against the late afternoon light, stretching and yawning. "You want to switch out?"

"Not yet. But it's coming."

"What is?"

"Just look outside to the right."

Confused, Dave did so. It just looked like typical Midwestern scenery to him. Then came the huge sign: WELCOME TO PENNSYLVANIA, THE KEYSTONE STATE.

Dave turned in wonder to Kurt, who nodded.

"We did it," Dave breathed.

"We're out of Ohio."

"I... I've never been out of Ohio. I..." He dropped backwards, his back bouncing against the seat. "This is... This is _awesome_."

"Calm down, boy, before you hyperventilate," Kurt said dryly. "We're not there yet. We've still got a ways to go before we get to New York."

"But we're on our way. We're out of Ohio. We can... We can be..." He trailed off, hope shining so brightly on his face that it was hard for Kurt not to stare. When Dave spoke again, his voice turned low and smooth. "If I kiss you right now, can you still keep your eyes on the road?"

"I dunno, you do have a big head..." Dave, to his credit, actually laughed; but then, after a year, he should have a good handle on Kurt's sense of humor by now. "Maybe if you turn your head so I can look over your ear..."

"Okay, like this...?" Dave bent his neck and shoulders until his head was perpendicular to Kurt's. Leaning over Kurt's lap, bracing himself on the driver's side door, their lips met. Dave's were somewhat chapped, and Kurt's still tasted of tobacco, but neither cared. Kurt couldn't really see anything over Dave's head, but even with a warm, wet tongue sliding across his, he still knew enough about his car and his own abilities to keep driving straight _._ Not that it'd keep him from crashing into something, but somehow, with Dave practically straddling him, and his tongue in his mouth, he couldn't help but think that if he had to die on this road, _this_ would be the way to go.

Fortunately for them both, Dave broke the kiss before they caused a twenty car pile-up. With a cheeky grin, he promptly placed his head on Kurt's lap. "Hey!" the latter snapped in a faux outraged tone, slapping his boyfriend's cheek. "Get out of there!"

"What? It's not like we haven't been in _this_ position before..."

"You are a _distraction_!"

"But this is so comfortable!" Dave fell silent for a moment. Then he looked up with such gentle eyes that Kurt couldn't help but take his own eyes off the road to meet them. "It's really going to be okay... isn't it?"

Keeping his right hand on the wheel, Kurt let his left fingers run through Dave's hair. He was never the most optimistic sort; hell, he was downright cynical when it came down to it. What else could he be but honest? What else could he say... but the truth?

"Yeah. We're gonna make it."

Taking Dave's hand in his, an awkward proposition at best while still keeping control of the car, Kurt's eyes returned to the vast highway ahead, the road to a future that was uncertain, but still shone with the kind of hope that he never thought he'd ever see.


	6. Epilogue: 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Here's the epilogue, because both the last parts are short, and connect pretty well. Many thanks again to sebkurtofskyftw for reading this over AND organizing the gift exchange, and Camunki for reading this over!

**March 27, 2013  
Joshua P. Gibson Academy, New York**

"I miss him every day..."

Kurt blinked, seeing the patient, expectant faces of his audience. He shook his head, returning his mind to the present.

"As those of you who read the book know, and I hope that's everyone..." Light laughter. "David had a hard time accepting who he was at first. It was a different time back then, a different world... I hope you all realize just how lucky you are to be living in the now, whether you're gay or straight. Any of you with differences, any of you who're a minority — sexual, religious, or otherwise — are safer, better, with the strides the world has made in the past fifty years. It wasn't always as good as it is now.

"So, to get to your question, young lady, David was... my first and only love." A couple of the girls in the audience "awww"-ed at this; there was a ripple of laughter, from Kurt included. "So of course there was a big impact there. But more than that... Seeing him come out of his shell, helping him on his journey to accept himself... It made me realize, as he'd told me repeatedly, that I had it easy, in a sense. I already rejected society's views of me, so I was great strides ahead in self-acceptance. But not everyone is so... fortunate, I suppose you'd say. So many grow up under stifling prejudice, fear, and hate, taught that who they are and who they love is sinful and evil and dirty. They become adults — if they're lucky — and either steep in self-loathing for the rest of their life, or pass on the prejudice and hate to the next generation, convincing them and themselves that they're tainted.

"That needs to change. Everyone deserves a Burt Hummel, a Puck, in their lives — preferably many. I wouldn't have realized that without David. I wouldn't have found out just what a strong, fine man my father was. If only for that... I owe David everything." There was a moment of silence, then other kids started raising their hands. "You, the young man near the back?"

"Um... It doesn't sound like you were very politically active to start with. What was the turning point that got you into activism in the first place?"

"I hope you're not in that social sciences class, because I think you just showed that you didn't read the book." Kurt sipped at a glass of water, quenching his parched throat, as the audience chuckled. "But for those of you who haven't, I'm happy to answer. After David and I graduated from high school, we went to New York City.

"You kids might think of it as the height of liberalism today, but back then, it was just as homophobic as any other place in America. But one thing it provided was a measure of anonymity, something you _cannot_ get in a small town. We ended up settling down in Greenwich Village, figuring that anything we did that would be considered 'weird' would get lost among all the other artists and weirdos already there."

_"So what do you think, Kurt?"_

_"It's dirty, noisy, and falling apart. The kitchen faucet doesn't quite work, and I think I just saw a rat in the bathroom. But..."_

_"But...?"_

_"It's home. It's_ our _home. So I think it's wonderful."_

_"Aww, the big bad hood is sentimental. Are you going soft?"_

_"Soft?_ Soft _?! You get into the bedroom right now, and I'll_ show _you just how fucking_ soft _I've gotten...!"_

"I'll admit we didn't do anything very political at first. We were too busy trying to make lives for ourselves. We struggled, naturally, but we managed to get by. We found what gay community there was, both open and underground, and that helped us build that support network we needed.

"Once that happened, easing into political activism came naturally. I couldn't stand to look into the eyes of scared youngsters... All I could see was David in his own darkest hour, and the feelings that brought up... Well, I couldn't feel that and not do something.

"I did some organizing and volunteering with a couple of activist groups. David began writing for their publications — under a pseudonym at first, but..."

_"I want to print this under my real name."_

_"... You do?"_

_"Yeah. I should've done it to begin with."_

_"Well... You know I'll support you whatever you decide, but I was curious... Why now?"_

_"I was cleaning out the closet, and I found... this."_

_"What's...? Oh. Isn't this that issue of the Mattachine Society magazine I showed you that summer we met?"_

_"Yeah. I remembered how_ they _all used their real names. How it made me feel, knowing there were people out there living openly, risking everything to show straights that they were gay, and other gays that they weren't alone... I think if I'm going to keep doing this, I need to have my real name out there."  
_

_"But there's a reason you're telling me about this instead of just doing it, isn't there?"_

_"Uh, yes? Coming out to your dad was one thing, but this is me coming out to the entire fricking nation. Anyone who gets word of this who knows me will_ have _to know who I am; it's not like there's a lot of guys running around with my last name. This is basically me coming out to my_ parents _, for God's sake."_

_"You haven't talked to them in years. You said it got too awkward trying to dance around the elephant in the room. Why do you care?"_

_"Why do you care about Carole when she's not your real mother? It's a family thing. Besides... I_ haven't _talked to them in years..."_

_"Were... were you thinking of contacting them again?"_

_"... Yeah. I always felt like I was drowning in their expectations. I never felt accepted for who I was, I never felt really safe... But I still miss them. Stupid, right?"_

_"... No, I don't think that's stupid at all."_

_"Kurt? ... Do you mind just... holding me for a while?"_

_"You ask the most idiotic questions."_

"... But he eventually put his real name to his writing. I still have that first article as 'David Karofsky' framed at home. As the movement grew stronger, so did our involvement. Then, of course, there was Stonewall..."

_"Shit! Goddamn, that hurts...!"_

_"Dave! Oh, God, you're bleeding..."_

_"It's just a scalp wound. There was stuff flying everywhere..."_

_"And_ you _made_ me _stay home?_ I _should've been the one to practically tie you to a chair!"_

_"But, Kurt, we got the best photos! And I got an interview with—"  
_

_"For fuck's sake, you moron, I was fucking_ worried sick _about you! Did you even think about that at all? Did you?!"_

_"I... Geez, Kurt, I'm sorry, I... Please don't cry..."_

_"I'm not crying! Okay, fine, I am, but because I'm so_ angry _at myself for being in love with a stupid thoughtless oaf who puts himself in harm's way, and..."_

_"Shh, shh... It's okay. I'm fine, right? I didn't leave you. So please don't kill me."  
_

_"Hmph. I haven't decided yet. Get washed up and show me that interview you risked your life for. If it's not stellar, you're a dead man."_

_"Yes, sir."_

"Stonewall wasn't the beginning of the gay rights movement at all, but it was significant. It lit a spark, and David and I did our part to make that light grow. I helped support the groups that sprang up as best I could while David covered and publicized them. We traveled the country as much as we could afford. We met with Harvey Milk in San Francisco three days before he died. We protested Anita Bryant in Florida..."

 _"_ David _! What the hell are you doing?"_

_"Um... Having breakfast?"_

_"And what is_ that _?"_

_"Uh... Orange juice?"_

_"That's right, orange juice! You forgot, didn't you, David? That is_ her _drink! That might as well be the blood of_ Satan _in this house!"_

_"Aw, come on, Kurt, you know I can't have breakfast without OJ..."_

_"Well, then, you'd better hope the Florida Citrus Commission drops her soon. Now dump the rest of that down the drain!"_

_"But I already paid for it..."_

_"It's the principle, David! Now!"_

_"Goddamn. You're lucky you're pretty... Ow!"_

"We tried to open the world's eyes to AIDS."

_"My God... I didn't realize the quilt was... was so big."_

_"We've been to enough funerals that I thought you might've been ready, David."_

_"I know, but... Those were over months. This... this is_ all _of it. In one place. It's... Oh, God..."_

_"It's okay, David. One advantage to being openly gay is that no one thinks twice if you cry. Come here."_

"We fought Don't Ask, Don't Tell. But that was around the time — and I think both David and I noticed it — that things started to shift. By the time of Lawrence v. Texas... we knew it was only a matter of time.

"David and I got married in Massachusetts as soon as it became legal. A couple of old queers in tuxes. But that was the first time I, at least, got the sense that we were helping to make a difference. We'd made so much progress... My stepbrother, Finn, actually marched along with us proudly in a Cleveland pride parade. My stepmother, one of the sweetest and most traditional housewives you'd ever meet, was a full fledged supporter of ours within ten years of being married to my dad. All the organizing, picketing, writing... It's been building for years, on the backs of people like David and all the others we met along the way."

Kurt looked down at his gnarled hands. "David died about a year and a half ago. Over fifty years together. Barely eight years as husbands."

_"So... I guess I am leaving you, Kurt... Don't kill me... Early, I mean..."_

_"Shut up, you dunce... God... W-what am I supposed to do without you?"_

_"Keep on fighting, what else? I mean, our story may be all romantic and shit, but living it sucked, and I don't want anyone else to have to go through all the crap we did to get where we are."_

_"Of course I will."_

_"Look, I know you don't believe in God or heaven, but... Just in case you're wrong... I'm gonna wait for you, okay? Just take as much time as you need."_

_"David..."_

"A long time ago, he said that he didn't want anyone else to go through what we had to do to be together. That's why I'm still active. That's why I made sure the book was published. He was working on it before he died, and... I wanted it to be his legacy. But it's my history too. It's everyone's.

"The last story he published was about the current Supreme Court cases. I don't know how they'll turn out, but... I can't think of a better tribute to him that they're being seriously argued at all. I hope... I hope you all take the history of civil rights — anyone's civil rights — seriously. Remember where your parents and your grandparents were, how far you've come... and how far you still need to go."

There was a moment of quiet, one which the teacher in charge seemed reluctant to break. "That's it for the lecture. Mr. Hummel will be signing the book and answering any short questions you may still have. Let's give a round of applause for Mr. Kurt Hummel." And they did. A couple of the more daring students even got to their feet, rousing their peers to do the same. Kurt nodded and smiled appreciatively.

He signed some twenty copies of _The Long Road Home: Fifty Years in the Gay Rights Movement_ by David Karofsky and Kurt Hummel. Sometimes he signed over the cover photo showing him and David standing arm in arm in front of their first Greenwich Village brownstone. Sometimes he signed over the photo of them at a San Francisco gay pride parade in 1979. Sometimes he signed under the title page, over David's name, as if Kurt were a mere proxy for him.

When he was done, he was tired. He supposed at his age he always would be. But it was a good tired. He felt like he'd accomplished something; that's all he ever asked of himself.

He went to the parking garage and slipped easily behind the wheel of his '49 Mercury (not the one he had as a teenager — that one had been junked in '64 — but a lovingly restored doppelganger, right down to the paint job). Kurt clicked on the radio, set to NPR.

"... learned my lesson with the Affordable Care Act; I will _not_ try to predict what the Court will decide. But I am comfortable in saying this: judging solely by the tenor and content of the questions the justices asked today, I will be _very_ surprised if they uphold the Defense of Marriage Act..."

Kurt smiled. Flush with a sense of triumph, he turned the knob to his favorite oldies station (God, oldies... way to remind your audience how ancient they are...). The dulcet rumblings of the Man in Black drifted from the speakers.

_You've got a way to keep me on your side..._

Kurt blinked, the start of a laugh shaking his chest. David had never lost his love for that song. "It always reminds me of that night," he'd say. "No matter how I reacted then, it was the start of the best thing that ever happened to me."

_You give me cause for love that I can't hide..._

"Still fighting, David," Kurt muttered. "I love you."

He started up the car; it roared to life, and he smoothly pulled out of the cramped space with the confidence and expertise of long years. With Johnny Cash serenading him and the passing students, Kurt drove off to his next lecture, to his next fight.

_For you I know I'd even try to turn the tide..._  
 _Because you're mine, I walk the line..._


End file.
